


The Sound of Light

by nightside



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Other, Reapers, post-Synthesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightside/pseuds/nightside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of a continuation of "Stars".</p>
<p>Post-Synthesis.  When taking off on a Reaper to avoid being stranded on some small colony, deciding on a destination is only the first of many problems.</p>
<p>Also an attempt at a turian/Reaper relationship that is not the obvious indoctrination version...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a NaNo challenge last year, just for fun, in order to answer two questions:  
> What is life like in a post-synth galaxy? and How would a positive turian/Reaper relationship work? 
> 
> Thanks to anjian (http://anjian.deviantart.com/) for letting me borrow Zekiel and Lament. I hope I didn't bend them too much out of shape.

 

 

 

_departure_

 

 

The absolute darkness softened into mere gloom as her eyes adapted. The misshapen form of the Marauder was a few steps ahead, leading her into the depths of the sentient ship.

Varinnia couldn't quite say what she expected the inside of the Reaper to be like, but whatever she had imagined, or feared, it was nothing like that. The first impression of the Reaper’s interior was gloomy emptiness. The only illumination came from tiny specks of green inside some clear tubes that emerged from walls, floor and ceiling and disappeared there again. If there was a pattern to their placement, it eluded her.

The floor beneath her feet and the walls that she could see were not the half-organic abomination she had half expected after taking into account the style the Marauder was shaped in. The corridor wasn’t a hybrid structured of biomatter and gleaming metal, no dubious fluids dripping from above or coating the walls.

Instead, it was all metal, dull, faintly textured. It was felt smooth and neutral to the touch. Maybe there was a slight green tint to it, or maybe that was merely due to the light. But even so, it looked neutral, and, while unfamiliar, not disturbingly alien. If she hadn't known better, apart from the lighting, she might have taken it for a normal vessel from any one of the other Council species.

The Marauder didn't follow when she went off to explore further, and she breathed a sigh of relief at that. She wasn't precisely afraid of it, but still she didn't want to have it at her back if it could be avoided.

She made her way alone through bare corridors, and huge rooms that were empty save for some minimalistic shelf-like constructions of metal beams that she assumed were reserved for storage. Presumably, that would be where it would have carried troops, and her imagination readily supplied the image of rows and rows of husks, stacked for efficiency, inert and unmoving until activated. However, it seemed that her original suspicion had been correct, that this Reaper only carried one single Marauder. She turned that fact over in her mind, but found no obvious explanation. Maybe the rest of them had been destroyed in the fighting on Chesed, and it was just as simple as that.

While the structure seemed normal enough, the differences to a normal ship soon became evident. There were smaller rooms, just as empty, but no control stations, no instruments, no access panels for repairs. It looked more like an unfinished model of a ship than an actual ship, not something that was designed to be operated by anyone, or even maintained by anyone. The whole feel of it was wrong, somehow, like it was masquerading as something that it wasn't.

A faint vibration under her feet was the only clue that she had that they most likely already were on their way into space. There was no way to know where they were going, or at what speed. Without any instrumentation, any screens or viewports to the outside, she was blind to what was going on. She was just a passenger, or, worse, a piece of cargo, with no say and no information as to where they were going, completely dependant on the Reaper's continued good will.

She fought down a shudder. It was still better than being grounded on the planet, better than being stuck on that colony on Chesed. Whatever it took, she wanted to get back into space. There was no other choice for that goal than the Reaper, so she would have to adapt.

For the moment, the best course of action was to get her bearings and learn the layout of the alien ship.

She didn't find any viewports, any inside interfaces to weaponry or drive. Of course not. There was no section for life support that she could identify, either. Level after level had empty rooms. There were no stairs or elevators, just ramps or vertical access shafts. But there was a section that seemed more heavily fortified than the rest of the ship, some part roughly in the middle of the main bulk that was closed off with heavy-looking pressure doors. She half expected them to remain closed, but as she put a hand on one experimentally, it slid back, revealing a room that at first glance was more familiar, filled with light and sound and machinery. After the bleak, empty sections, it looked almost welcoming.

There were high blocks of machinery that looked completely alien to her, but whatever their function was, precisely, they were massive and higher than her. She could not see any control panels, but there were thin grids of glowing green lines running over their surface in roughly geometric patterns. Lines of tubes of varying thickness were running between them as well as along the edges of the walls and up to the ceiling. All of them were translucent and pulsed with a faint green light, pinpricks of sparkling emerald against dark metal. The light in the room came from the machinery, the tubes, and some light source further ahead.

The scales on her neck prickled, but she pressed on, picking her way through the bulk like through a bizarre maze. A few turns, and she ran into a niche that held a by now familiar shape.

The Marauder was standing motionless, the lights of its cybernetics pulsing in the same rhythm that the tubes had. Thin greenish tendrils that seemed to origin from one of the tubes moved over its form. Her skin crawled as she watched in morbid fascination. One of the tendrils connected with a port in its throat. Its shape changed slightly as it burrowed into the husk's neck, still pulsing. Others of its kind worked roughly the same area, shifting metal and organic parts aside as the Marauder's cybernetics lit up.

Her stomach dropped. As much as she tried to tell herself that it was probably nothing more than an automatic repair station, some primal part in the back of her mind likened it to a carnivorous plant immobilising its prey in order to devour it later at its leisure. Mandibles held tight, she backed away slowly, not quite turning her back to the scene until she was well clear.

She turned, and found that she was already past the blocks of machinery. Ahead was the source of light that she had expected.

Apparently suspended in mid-air was something like a glowing ball of plasma, white with a faint tint of green, and so bright she had to squint while looking at it. The faint rhythm was there, too, a slow, steady pulse. Tubes converged from all directions into a complicated but organic looking construct that surrounded the glowing sphere without touching it. She imagined she could hear a sound from it, too, something that was like the whisper of many voices. She strained her ears to hear, but all she could come up with was the impression that there was a melody to it, like a faint, very distant song carried by a myriad of voices. Underlying that was a faint, deep rhythmic sound that was more like a vibration under her feet than something her ears could detect.

As alien as the sound was, it still was something she could recognize. She stared, at a loss at what to think as she realised what it was that she was looking at.

There were certainly people who had become experts on Reapers out of necessity, who had fought them, had destroyed a few of them and studied the remains, before that human Spectre had gone and ended the war as well as turned their world upside-down forever with one single action. But, she wondered, how many organics had ever seen what she was seeing here, the core, the living heart of a Reaper?

She wasn't easily impressed, but it was hard not to feel a certain sort of awe creep up, and for a split second she understood why some life forms had mistaken the Reapers for deities. She ground her teeth together, held her spine straight and her mind closed against that huge presence as well as she could. No. It was huge. It was ancient. Presumably, it had the knowledge of all the poor creatures that had gone into its making. It might merit respect, maybe still warrant fear. But it did not deserve worship.

She lifted her head and stared straight into the glowing sphere, although her eyes protested the brightness and started to tear up. The whole core room was disturbing, frightening even because it bothered her not to be able to tell the function of the structures she saw. But again it was not the biomechanic nightmare that she had half expected. She had feared to see some sort of organic remnants of the creatures that had been processed to create it still fused into its mechanical parts, maybe some liquified organic matter bubbling and boiling in clear tubes. But this was a clean, consistent design, and while the colour scheme was dark and metallic, it was not an ugly or repulsing place.

Quite the opposite, really; it was very alien, but the specks of light moving through the tubes and parts of the large blocks and the plasma sphere gave it a sort of beauty that she would never have expected. Viewed without the context of knowing what it was, she might have called it beautiful and even calming. As things were, it was frightening, but only for what it represented and not for what it looked like.

She refused to be impressed by either.

"What is it that you really want from me?" she asked, although she was rather certain that it was incapable of answering in the same way.

As expected, there was no audible reply, but from one of the tubes, a greenish tendril rose up and slowly curled into her direction.

The image of a predatory plant again rose up in her mind, and revulsion shook her at the idea of that thing touching her. She shrank back, mandibles lowered, teeth bared in a grimace of defiance and fear. Dimly, she wondered how much reach it had. She could evade this one, but there was no telling what parts of the Reaper could form into tendrils like that. Maybe every structure on the ship was capable of that. Maybe-

The tendril dropped and went inert again. She still just barely swallowed a hiss as the Marauder appeared at her shoulder, slow-moving as ever but as far as she could tell unharmed.

It regarded her, its almost-rigid mandibles twitching uselessly. "Safe", it said, its voice still nowhere like that of a turian, but clearly different than before.

It has fixed its voice modulator, she told herself as she tried to get her heart-rate down again. That was all that it had done. Of course it had to use something to interact with objects. It didn't have hands, so it used those tendrils, the same way she would use tools.

Maybe it was right and there was nothing to be afraid of. She didn't believe that it was deliberately lying to her. That short, low-level glimpse she had gotten of its personality when it had offered her to leave that godforsaken planet together had shown her no trace of malice or deception. But its definition of safe might differ significantly from her own.

She still backed away a few steps, not looking at the core's mesmerising glow again. "Where are we going?" she asked instead. Again she felt the faint touch of that immense presence against her mind, and she ground her teeth. It would be easy to talk to it the way the cybernetics they all had in common now enabled everyone to communicate.

But she remembered all too well that terrible moment when they all had changed, when there had been so many voices in her head, confused, afraid. It had nearly driven her crazy, and back then those voices had been only regular humans and asari and a handful of other aliens. And that had only been the ambient link, something that was more or less an open broadcast that could at least be blocked out most of the time. Most of the people on Chesed had taken up communicating mostly via private links, deeper connections to a single individual or a small number of them. It was beyond her why anyone would do this in the first place, leaving themselves open to someone else’s voice in their heads. But with something as big as the Reaper, it would be infinitely worse. Something of that complexity and size could crush her without meaning to, without even noticing. This wasn't an option.

The Marauder remained still for a second, the creature behind its eyes thinking, then it turned away and went back to the niche containing what she had tagged to be a repair station. The tendrils waved, drawing tiny elements from what had to be storage compartments. She narrowed her eyes. The Marauder might still be clumsy, because its form wasn't natural for the Reaper to control, but the tendrils were quick and precise. She vaguely wondered whether they were actually a part of the Reaper or just something it had gotten used to in its long existence.

The Marauder leaned forward, then picked up a small silvery disc that a single tendril now was holding up. It came back, slowly, then stopped a step or two away, the disc in its open palm, offering.

She thought about it for a few seconds, then carefully took the small disc without touching its hand. It was small, light, the size of a credit chip. She turned it in her fingers, but when its function didn't become apparent, she let it slide into her left palm and closed her fingers around it.

"What is this-" Her cybernetics lit up, and there was a crawling sensation in her hand as the disc clicked into place. Instinctively, she shook her hand to throw it off, but it had already become attached to the small port hidden in her palm. Her mind whitened out, and she found herself again in that white, blank space that she had experienced when talking to the Reaper before, back on the planet.

It wasn’t a real link, just a platform for data exchange, she reminded herself. This hadn’t harmed her before, and there was no reason to assume that it would do so now.

_Where are we going?_ she asked again, and immediately the white filled up with a star chart. The course lit up, green as the Reaper's cybernetics. They were heading for a relay that she had never heard of, and then a direct jump into some nameless system. Their final destination appeared to be a small asteroid in the ring of the second planet.

_What is there?_

It answered with a sequence of images, structures, a feeling of safety. None of it made much sense, but she hadn't expected it to. She would just see, then.

_How long to get there?_

Symbols flashed by, falling into a meaningless jumble. She shook her head at herself. They didn't have a common point of reference, no common units. No wonder it didn't know how to answer that.

The symbols halted, focused. _< An image of the planet they had just left behind, turning. A fraction. Half that.>_

Nine hours? It had to be a translation error. Nothing could cross that distance in that time.

_< Less. If ->_ There was some symbol she couldn't even look at without getting a headache, so she didn't try.

She blinked, and the connection faded. She looked down at her palm, the disc gleaming, now inert. Experimentally, she pried it off, and it came loose with no effort at all. A comlink, then, or at least the Reaper equivalent. It was just a tool, not a permanent modification. With a shrug, she stuck it on again.

Strangely enough, the brief conversation had calmed her nerves, at least to some degree. She still made it a point to leave the core, and choose the smallest, most obviously bare room without any visible green-glowing conduits to settle in for the wait until their arrival.


	2. chrysalis

_chrysalis_

 

 

Her sense of time was off, so she was unable to tell how much time really had passed when she felt the very faint change in the ship. She couldn't have said how she could tell that they had slowed, but she knew they had.

After a moment's hesitation, she activated the comlink. Her senses narrowed down to white blankness again as she sought for the Reaper's presence.

_Have we reached our destination?_

It didn't reply in static images this time, but in a surprisingly clear view of the outside. The field of view was a bit strange, wider than she was used to, so everything seemed slightly distorted, but the scene itself was familiar. They were in slow approach to an irregular-shaped asteroid, half-hidden by bands of dust that here and there reflected the light of the distant sun. The Reaper moved through the dust much slower than it had any need to, which made it look more like it was swimming through the dust than pushing its way through it.

The asteroid, however, wasn't nearly as serene a view as the sheets of dust were. It stood out darker against the dust and smaller specimens of its kind, and despite its asymmetric shape, there was something about its lines that she didn't like.

The Reaper clearly didn't share her apprehension, because it was going straight for it. There was no point of reference to tell her how large it was, but as the asteroid grew in her view and filled it, her sense of unease increased. She actually flinched when all of a sudden, the dark structure lit up in a tangle of green lines that were too regular to be natural but followed no scheme she could determine. They were close enough now for her to see the surface of the asteroid shifting, some areas receding, others raising on their own. She could see part of the Reaper's left foreleg unfolding from its flight position and extend outwards, out of the field of view again. The view was replaced by darkness, then white as the transmission was cut. A dull sound running through the hull and a noticeable shift of the ship told her that it had made contact with the asteroid.

She tried to contact the Reaper again, but this time the channel stayed blank. Either it didn't want to talk at the moment, or it was preoccupied.

Her unease was replaced by annoyance. Whatever this was about, she wasn't going to sit in the half-dark and wait for something to happen. If she had no instrumentation to give her any clue about their surroundings, she had to go and have a look herself.

The light env suit she had brought aboard was still at the airlock, where she had left it. It wasn't exactly armour, or suited to withstand extreme conditions, but it was serviceable enough to do short outside repairs on a ship if necessary. It should be enough to keep her safe for a quick look.

She suited up, then pondered the airlock, which, of course, had no interface. Before she could do more than consider any possible actions, the Marauder came in, then passed her to stand in front of the airlock.

The massive slabs of metal slid back, opening the way into an extensible semi-transparent corridor sparsely lit by the same green lines that by now she associated with Reaper-style technology.

Something small and metallic moved on the floor of the corridor, skittered forward on too many legs. It moved past her, a segmented, long body in metallic green, almost touching her boot at ankle height, and she swore as she jumped aside in reflex. Her first thought had been insect and brought vague but unpleasant memories of her half-forgotten childhood and little things that crawled and bit. But an insect infestation of a deep-space Reaper station wasn't a likely scenario. It had to be a machine, then, something that belonged here.

The small construct moved purposefully straight at the wall and then, without even slowing down, up the wall. Halfway up, it stopped and flattened its legs against the metal. Faint pathways of light appeared in the surface, connecting to the construct's legs.

She didn't start this time as more of the things appeared, first only a handful, then a steady stream of them. None of them paid her any attention as they disappeared into the depths of the Reaper.

The Marauder turned its head towards her. "Follow."

For want of a better thing to do, she did. It led her along the corridor, through a loading bay and onwards. The rooms and corridors were dark, the lights only coming up at their approach. More constructs passed them, larger ones this time. She flattened herself to the wall of the corridor when the first one stalked by on four multi-jointed legs, a closed container clutched in four thin arms. It didn't even turn its blunt head at her, and the greenish-black eyes didn't flicker as it continued on its way. Something was familiar about its shape, but she couldn't quite place it.

They weren't interested in her either, and she stopped jumping at their approach after the first dozen or so. The Marauder led on, finally stopping at an area that was closed off by shimmering energy fields. It passed through the field without hesitation, and after a second she followed it 

The HUD of her suit told her that conditions in this area were suited to sustain life. As she stepped closer, she saw a holographic screen flicker into existence at something that might be some sort of terminal. There were closed-off sections that presumably led into small rooms. At first glance, it looked almost like a waiting area at a spaceport, serviceable, but hardly inviting.

She wondered about the purpose of it. Husks didn't need air or moderate temperatures. If this was what it looked like, a place to temporarily house organics, then she wasn't sure that she wanted to consider the exact circumstances and reasons for it.

The Marauder stayed where it was while she took a quick tour to explore.

A quick walkthrough of the area confirmed her first impression. This was a zone designated to provide temporary accommodation to organics. She identified small sleeping quarters, hygiene facilities, nutrient dispenser units, a small commons holding some tech.

Going by the logic that if the Reaper or something in this facility wanted her dead, there were much easier ways to accomplish it, she finally removed her helmet. The ambient temperature was a bit lower than comfortable to her, but the air was clean, sterile, with no particular scents or taste. In fact, it felt just as bare as the rooms were. There were no traces that spoke of anything living ever having been here. There wasn't even a speck of dust or scuff mark anywhere that would have given a clue. If anyone living had been here before, then they were long gone, and there was no trace left of them.

She shuddered, trying not to think about whoever might have been here before, and why. Had they come of their own accord? Had they had any idea what they were dealing with?

For that matter, did she?

She clicked her mandibles, then looked at the Marauder, who was still standing at the force field. "What am I supposed to do here?"

It remained silent for longer than usual, which she interpreted as the Reaper being preoccupied with other tasks. "Wait." it finally said.

Varinnia flicked one mandible. That wasn't really helpful. "For how long?"

To that, it didn't reply at all. Maybe it didn't know. She wasn't really surprised. As strange as this place was, she thought she could still put a name to it - a fully automated dry-dock. Apparently the Reaper needed some kind of resupplying or maintenance. There was the possibility that it was damaged, which led to the further possibility that it might not be as peaceful as it appeared to be once it was fully restored.

She shook her head, irritated with herself. It had told her. It had wanted to be in space, and it had wanted company on the trip. If there was some hidden agenda, then she had not gotten any sense of that. There was no need making herself more crazy than this place and situation already were doing.

Wait, she thought. Well, for the time being, that was all that she could do.

 

 

 

Hours turned into days. By necessity, Varinnia remained on the station. The Reaper, when queried, didn't answer in any understandable manner, and the constructs had barred her way the one time when she tried to get back aboard. None of them had shown any aggression towards her. They had just stood firmly and unmoving in her way until she had given up and left. A construct showed up carrying part of the supplies that she had brought aboard, so she had at least that.

She slept uneasy the first night, caught in the irrational but gripping fear that it was about to leave her behind on this dead station. The Reaper might be creepy. The station was worse.

But when she woke, it was still in dock, constructs were milling about it, and she admitted to herself that at least it didn't look like it was likely to leave in a hurry.

The station might have been disturbing to her, but she wasn't made to sit around and cower in fear, either. Her approach was to fight down uneasiness, don her env suit again and go exploring.

To her surprise, apart from the Reaper itself, any other area was accessible to her. The constructs ignored her for the most part. She wandered through storage halls, automated fabrication systems, halls that were filled up with chemical processing equipment, and other, different sorts of machinery whose purposes eluded her but made her wonder what exactly the Reapers could build here.

Only a minor part of the whole facility was actually active and powered at all, the rest seemed simply shut down.

Nowhere did she encounter anything moving but constructs. It wasn't that she had expected any traces of organics here, let alone other living beings, but the lack of life in this place got on her nerves nevertheless.

The Reaper remained unresponsive, and the Marauder didn't move from her temporary quarters. But as one day turned into another and the next, she started to calm down. She would never completely be used to a place like this, but for some reason she no longer had nightmares about being left behind on this rock.

Once she found a small airlock to the outside, and wandered the surface of the asteroid. The outside was dark, the sun somewhere unseen, but the sky was full of stars. Their patterns were alien, but there was something constant and familiar in the sight of a starry sky unfiltered by atmosphere. She stayed out for hours, looking up at the sky, thinking.

 

 

She had lost exact count, but it had been at least two weeks when the constructs showed some change in their behaviour. There was still a constant stream of them leaving the Reaper. The number of them going in again carrying some parts or others had decreased, however. It seemed that things were winding up to a finish.

 She could feel the Reaper stir, even if it wasn't a physical motion. There was just the sense of its presence again, tinged with a hint of anticipation.

She packed her few things, and reached the airlock even before the Marauder. The green channels on the Reaper’s hull were glowing, showing it to be in full active state. She wasn’t completely certain, but the channels looked to her a bit different from before, more visible, either more prominent, or brighter, or both. "Are you done?"

"Leave," the Marauder said. She couldn't have agreed more. When she stepped through the airlock into the Reaper's interior, she was surprised to find that it felt already familiar.

 

 

The changes were visible as soon as she stepped through the airlock. The room no longer was bare. Instead, there were storage lockers lining the walls, just as it would have been in a normal ship, to store env suits, tools, and maybe weapons.

She stopped, unable to keep the feeling of unreality down. If anything, it looked stranger than before, the structures of greenish metal almost familiar. She opened one of the lockers, found it empty as expected. Her sense of unreality grew as she automatically stored her env suit away.

Feeling a bit dazed, she went to check further into the ship. The storage areas and most of the lowest deck were as they had been, still bare, but the level above was changed completely. Walls had appeared, sectioning off areas, and those areas no longer were empty. Parts of it felt like a real ship. She found cabins suitable for crew quarters, open spaces that could be used common areas, facilities for food preparation and storage, bathrooms, workrooms. On closer inspection, all the walls that she could see had changed, too. Now there were seams of green running in curves like rivulets, separating and joining again in what seemed to be random patterns, embedded and fused into the metal. There were instrument stations and interfaces that appeared in seemingly bare walls when she touched them. The uppermost level even had been turned into a large observation deck. There were still no viewports, of course, but when she set foot onto the seemingly empty deck, hidden projectors came alive, displaying a surround view. It was what its own perception had to be, translated into something she could understand.

When she went down again towards the core, she found that the large room just above it had been transformed into a bridge. Screens, nav, control stations, a large holographic image of the whole ship, partially transparent. If the colour scheme hadn't been that neutral, greenish metal meshed with almost black and veined with biomatter, and if the hologram hadn't been a constant reminder of what it really was, it would have almost been like standing on the bridge of a Hierarchy vessel.

And she couldn't imagine why it had done this. This was far more that convenience. Making room and quarters for her was one thing. But transforming its interior into a pretense of a ship...there was no reason for that. All of it might look familiar, functional, but it wasn't, couldn't be. The nav reacted to her cautious touch like any interface she'd ever used, and even the format and writing was familiar. She could look up and plot a course. But why should it need any input from her? It was perfectly capable of making its own decisions and taking care of itself. It didn't need any pilot, and she still couldn't understand what it was that it wanted.

There was a hatch now that led down from the bridge directly to the core, and she was almost relieved to find that that area, as disturbing as it was, had remained the same. The Marauder was resting in an arc-like alcove close to the core itself, and she wondered for a moment whether it needed recharging in some way, too.

The core itself flickered but held no answers to any of her questions, and so she turned on the comlink. To her surprise, this time her perception was not completely replaced by cool white. Instead, it was like a hologram overlaying her senses. She blinked rapidly, uselessly, until the faint nausea caused by the discrepancy was gone. This was new. She could feel the Reaper's presence, strong even through the relative safety of the link, but she was still capable of taking note of her surroundings. The sensory input was stronger than for example the HUD of her suit, but she wondered whether she could learn to treat this in a similar way, use its information without being distracted. 

_What was the purpose for your stay here? This refit? Or did you have any damage?_

_< A sequence of images of a planet’s surface, first lifeless, then changing image by image, a hostile environment turning into one capable of sustaining life, until small, indistinct shapes moved over the surface.>_ There was a brief pause. _< Impatience. The need to be gone, to leave this place.>_

She was minded to agree. _Where do we go next?_

Blankness. Then, still without any images, the feeling that it was waiting for something, from her.

She flinched. _What is it that you want from me?_

_< A sensation of disorientation. The image of a generic spaceship, spinning out of control against the background of a star system.>_

Varinnia froze. _You don’t know where to go?_

_< The image of a single nav beacon in a starless void. An image of herself.>_

_You want me to decide where to go, what to do? But you must have some preference. Some idea what you want to do._

_< A swirling chaos of star charts, overlaying each other, intersecting with each other. Courses plotted out on each of them, all possible, none of them readable.>_

Her knees felt weak. A Reaper. A damned Reaper, and it wanted her to tell it what to do. _Why me?_

_< A mind with stars within, alien and small but with a glimpse of familiar.>_

She broke the connection and just remained still, leaning forward to stare into the glaring light of the core as if the answers to her questions were in there.

It had something more long-term in mind than a single trip to drop her off somewhere. So many possibilities. With a Reaper for a ship, she could do close to anything.

She could just go off exploring, leaving the sorry business of half a galaxy in war-torn ruins behind. There were no allegiances that she still had to anyone, no oaths sworn, no services or debts owed.

Or she could go independent, make good money on salvage or transport or smuggling. She had gotten by well enough with her own small ship, before the war.

There was also the possibility of settling some older but not forgotten scores. Perhaps remember past wrongs and go after some individuals who without doubt were just waiting holed up somewhere for a chance to begin their ugly schemes again. War tended to kill off more of the decent people than the vermin, after all.

She could do any or all of that, and be quite safe doing so. A Reaper was one hell of a force to reckon with. But with all that came a responsibility that she didn't know how to handle.

She shuddered. Maybe it was all a test, and it was just curious about what she was going to do. Or maybe it wasn't, and it genuinely wanted was to learn to do something different. If so, she wasn't going to reintroduce it to fighting again if she could help it. She was tired of that. Maybe the Reaper was, too. She hoped that it was.

Maybe they both needed to be part of the rebuilding. But not at the core worlds. Those places got enough attention, and even one Reaper more or less wouldn't make much of a difference. But there were too many places that had been cut off by the war, people stranded on isolated outposts and stations, on places that depended on being supplied from elsewhere, that were too small to be considered important. They could make a difference there.

She opened up the link again.

_How do you feel about doing cargo runs for a while and help keep people alive and their homes rebuilt?_

_< Contentment. Agreement.>_

_Then that's what we'll try._

She broke contact again, then decided that she might just as well try out the modifications it had done to itself and climbed up again onto the bridge. She set a destination on the nav, and failed to be surprised as the Reaper immediately suggested an alternate route, using a relay that had been on none of her maps. Fair enough. She hit a key to confirm although she had the thought that this was completely unnecessary, and leaned back in her seat to watch their departure on the screens.

She felt the faint vibration as the Reaper lifted away from its dock and folded its legs under its bulk. The curve of its hull changed as some parts of it shifted and reconfigured. Like a living creature unfolding from a sleeping position and stretching, the Reaper's shape became more straight and streamlined.

Its liftoff was gentle, with no discernible strain of engines or sound of hull, and she watched the spacedock fall away under them, the lights already shutting down, until it once again was just a lifeless dark lump hidden away in the asteroid field.

The light of the distant sun touched them, but only briefly as the Reaper gathered speed and slipped into FTL with an oddly effortless grace. 

She watched the play of color outside with a strange sense of calm and for all her vague apprehension nevertheless twitched her mandibles into a wry smile as she thought about reporting back to Hierarchy command for new assignments and registering her new means of transport.

 


	3. signon

 

_signon_

 

 

The hub station of Laeth was almost a shock after the calm of Chesed. On Chesed, people had reacted with a strange, almost dazed acceptance to the changes and to the Reapers, and they had just switched their focus on rebuilding. Laeth was chaos, despite all attempts to impose order.

She had sent her ID codes well ahead before approach, and to her own surprise they had been cleared to land without any further procedure. Laeth was Hierarchy-run; it would have been more in line with her experiences to have been sent into a holding position until permission had been obtained from further up the line of command, and there should have been questions beforehand.

With a wary feeling, she watched on her screens as the Reaper eased itself into dock with a precision that would have been admirable in any other craft. The docking clamps didn't quite fit, but she had no doubt that the Reaper wouldn't drift a fraction of an inch anyway.

"I need to report in and see what they have to say," she told the bridge in general. "I don't know how long that will take. I'll let you know as soon as there is anything to tell."

For a split second there was white overlaying the edge of her vision, a general feeling of calm, then everything was back to normal. She twitched a mandible, uneasy, but it was more reflex now. In the past days, she had become more used to communicating with the Reaper that way. It was still hard to understand, but at least she thought she could get its general mood now. At this moment, it didn't mind sitting in dock and it was content to wait for further developments and decisions.

Fair enough. She had a feeling her own people wouldn't be as cooperative.

With a faint grimace, she went down to the airlock.

 

 

As soon as she set foot on the station, she knew that her assessment had been correct. There was a welcoming party consisting of three soldiers in black-and-yellow armour already waiting for her. She threw them a disinterested look, noting facial markings, rank insignia and armour patterns in passing. Regular military, active duty rather than assigned to security detail on the station. Alert, tense, one of them looking past her shoulder at the Reaper. Well, at least it showed to her that they had some sense left in their heads despite Hierarchy training. That was just as well.

She came to a stop in front of them, then cocked her head to one side, questioning.

The apparent leader, a young man wearing Palaven blue, inclined his head politely. "The commander requests your presence right away," he said, and she had to give him points for his voice showing nothing but courtesy. If he had any opinions about her appearance, status - or, rather, lack of it - or choice of transportation, he kept those to himself.

If he had been less professional, she might have been inclined to respond in kind just to get a rise out of him, but as things were, that would have been pointless. That conversation was inevitable anyway, so she might just as well get it over with.

She nodded. "All right. Lead the way."

Varinnia had to give them further points for the other two keeping a polite distance, making this seem less like an arrest and more like an escort.

Her guide didn't try to strike up any conversation as he led her away from the docks. She turned her head back once, to see the Reaper sitting in its space, flanked by regular ships, and looking very much out of place, and thought she could sympathise. Then she kept her eyes straight ahead.

Her escort delivered her to the station commander's office, but they didn't follow her as she stepped through the door.

The commander, a rather striking female in regular armour, didn't bother to rise from behind her desk as Varinnia was sent in.

She looked quite the model of Hierarchy ideals, Varinnia thought with more amusement than resentment. Her yellow markings - Etasia, main world - were crisp and bright, carefully maintained as was the rest of her. Her fringe was curved and regular and unadorned, the curve of her neck and the set of her shoulders proud. Her armour was impeccably polished.

In telling contrast to her soldier outside, she didn't quite bother to mask the disdain in her eyes at the sight of a woman in scruffy civilian clothes, with faded green markings on a weathered face, a crack on a lateral fringe spine and no rank to speak of.

Varinnia met that annoyed look with a disdainful one of her own. Hierarchy drone, she thought. I wonder, do you even have thoughts of your own?

She didn't bother to give her name. The nod she gave the commander was with just the minimal amount of respect due to the other's rank. She didn't miss that she hadn't been offered a seat. "You wished to see me?"

The commander flattened her mandibles to her jaw before relaxing them again. "Ardesia Imvaris. I'm in command of this station." She clenched her hand, relaxed it again. "The same station you are endangering by bringing that Reaper here."

Ah. Varinnia nodded. Things were going as expected, then. "I came here because that's what Central told me to do." She kept any hostility out of her voice, mainly because she knew it wouldn't help. "I filed my report with them as soon as I was able to make contact again and was ordered to report in here for further assignments."

Imvaris gave her a hard stare that failed to impress her. "Why? The war is over, and so is your assignment. You have no further obligations towards the Hierarchy and are free to go back to whatever life you have chosen for yourself."

Varinnia suppressed a grim smile. "Ah. That's it, then. I have done my duty and can take myself off to somewhere out of sight of the Hierarchy again." She wasn’t surprised, of course, but she wondered that it hadn’t taken long for the old mutual prejudices to to the surface again. During the war, no one had had leisure enough to care about anyone else’s ancestry, homeworld or citizen status. Apparently, things were already switching back to normal in that regard.

The commander twitched a mandible. "It's what most of the unaffiliated have done at the first chance they got."

"And if your colleagues spoke to them just as nicely as you are doing with me, then I can well see why they did." Varinnia snorted. "Let's cut this short. You want me away from that Reaper."

Imvaris lifted her head, a flash of anger in her eyes. "You are a liability, and an unknown factor. This is a delicate situation that requires diplomacy and that has to be handled by official procedure by persons who are qualified and trained to do so. You are neither."

Varinnia blinked. "What do you think I'm going to do? Convince it to become my flagship and then go pirate on your sorry asses?"

Her faint amusement drained away at the commander's stony expression. "Spirits. That's really what you are thinking."

"You are a criminal," the commander said, simply.

Varinnia tossed back her head. "And I suppose you found enough in my file to support that idea. Very convenient."

Imvaris looked as if she had bitten into something sour. "I am ordered to offer a new vessel to replace the one you lost in the line of duty and additional funds as compensation." She twitched a mandible again, as if the words were an effort. "And in addition to that, citizen status, if you should want it."

Her jaw dropped. "You are seriously trying to buy me off?"

"Why not?" Imvaris lifted her chin. "You have proven with your previous actions that your honour can be bought. All that remains is to determine the price."

Varinnia stared at her, speechless for a moment, then started to laugh. The commander's insulted expression made it worse.

"Spirits," she wheezed. "I should thank you, I really should. Every now and then, I start to wonder whether it was the right idea to stay away from Hierarchy space as much as possible. And then I see people like you and have to listen to what they say, and I know I shouldn't have bothered wondering." She shook her head, as humour fled, and faced the commander. "You can forbid your own citizens to have any contact with Reapers as much as you like. I'm not one of them, so I don't care what you do. The Reaper got me off that spirits-forsaken world. It's willing to sign up for a while and help out, in whatever way it can. The same goes for me. If you can use our help, then tell us. If not, we will find someplace else we can be of use." She shrugged. "Your choice. Commander."

Imvaris stared at her, contempt open now. "You are a good example of the unaffiliated ones. Selfish, arrogant. If you really cared about the greater good, you'd walk away from this and let someone competent handle this."

Varinnia sighed, her mirth spent. "It's selfish now to come in and offer to help, is it?"

"It is because you spare no thought for the consequences of your actions. There is no telling what it might do, what views it might develop from interacting with you. If you really want to help, sign up on a regular ship, do your part and be content with that. Leave the diplomatic missions to those who are trained to do so. The peace we have at the moment is fragile enough."

Varinnia fought down that flash of anger. "Have you even bothered to ask the Reaper itself?" she asked, keeping her tone mild. "I'd suggest you do or have your trained personnel do that. It has a will of its own and can speak for itself, you know. If it changes its mind, then I won't insist."

She decided she was done standing in front of the station commander and making excuses for herself. "See what it has to say for itself, then let me know how you want this to be." She inclined her head. "Is there anything else you wish to speak about?"

The commander actually snarled, then waved her hand dismissively. "No. Not at the moment." Her tone was biting. "Thank you for your time."

Varinnia twitched a mandible. "You are welcome, Commander." She held her temper until she was clear of the office and the door had closed behind her, but after that she allowed herself the luxury of voicing her opinion of the Hierarchy in general and the commander and her supposed lineage in particular in no uncertain terms. Not quite under her breath.

A quiet snicker made her look up. With a certain resignation, she regarded the soldier from before. His face was impassive, but his eyes glittered with suppressed mirth. She made it a point to look around, but there was no trace of the rest of his squad.

"You have been assigned guest quarters," he said. "I'll show you."

Varinnia snorted. "So that's what she calls it. Am I officially under arrest?"

He shook his head. "No, of course not. You are her guest. The quarters are offered as a courtesy for your comfort."

"Right." She snorted again. "And I'm supposed to stay there. Out of courtesy." 

"It would be appreciated, but it isn't mandatory."

"Then I assume your presence is?"

He made a good show of looking regretful. She would almost have believed it. She considered the situation, then shrugged. It could have been worse, and she had the notion that all of this would resolve itself soon enough. Imvaris had her orders, but safe for trying to split them up and convincing the Reaper to accept another liaison, there was not much she could do at the moment. To Varinnia she had seemed far too much a good, honest soldier to resort to the illegal or to unprovoked violence. All this meant was that she had another ranking military officer pissed off at her and trying to unnerve her. It wasn't the first time, and in all probability wouldn't be the last. She could just wait for this to resolve itself.

"Fine."

 

 

The so-called guest quarters were actually surprisingly comfortable. Varinnia suspected that the set of rooms was actually official lodgings for medium-level staff. She considered the situation for a moment, then shrugged. It could have been a lot worse. There was a terminal and a vid screen, and the couch on the small living area looked not especially uncomfortable. She wouldn't get too bored. It was as good a time as any to catch up on what the rest of the galaxy had been up to.

She threw her watchdog a quick glance. "Do you have a name, too?"

He actually looked a bit taken aback. "Ireus Varak."

She took the time to look at his rank insignia more closely, then sighed. "And if I read the bars right, you are Imvaris' second in command. I would think that you have more important things to do than keep me company here."

Varak gave her a measuring look, then apparently decided to be blunt as well. "You may not be considered dangerous. Your ...travel companion, on the other hand, is."

She snorted. "I see. Never mind, then." She considered. "I hope this place has room service."

Varak did his best to look neutral, but there was a suspicious twitch in his left mandible. "Not by itself, but we can order-"

"Then do so," she interrupted. "And since the commander's footing the bill, make it something worthwhile. Get enough for both of us."

The amusement was visible now on his features as he turned away to the comlink. She ignored him as she sprawled herself into the couch and hunted for the remote.

The vid screen clicked on, a news channel already selected, and she curled herself up to watch.

Just after a few minutes, she was ready to admit to herself that she had been out of the loop too much. Back on Chesed, communication to the outside had been restored rather quickly, but everyone had been focussed too much on their own rebuilding to care much what was happening elsewhere. But of course, time hadn't stood still for anyone.

Apparently, the same event that had left everyone changed in that eerie and still disturbing way had knocked out the relays as well, and they needed to be taken online again one by one. There were teams of scientists and engineers of all species dispatched to the major relays, but travel had become anything from slow to downright impossible without the relays, and repairing a mass relay wasn't like rewiring a faulty generator. She wondered how they could do it at all, without deep knowledge of that alien technology. Even if the Reapers were taking part in the restoration, knowledge like that wasn't transferred like handing over a manual. The relays had never been intended to be understood or duplicated by the organic species that used them.

Her jaw dropped as she caught the announcement of the Citadel relay being online again, and planning now underway to restore it from its current location in the Sol system.

"What the hell? They moved the Citadel? To the humans’ main system?"

Varak was back, offering her a covered tray that she automatically accepted. He hesitated, then seemed to think the hell with it and settled himself on the couch as well, a polite distance away. He had followed orders, she thought with amusement, as he was reaching for a second tray that he had left on the couch table. Good for him.

"What happened there, at the end?" she asked him.

He shrugged, not looking at her as he uncovered his meal.

The delicious scent rising from the small bowls made her reconsider her priorities and explore her own tray. She found neatly cut chunks of fish, prepared in several different ways, and silverleaf tea. She nodded in appreciation. This would have been beyond her means even in the economy before the war. Right now, she hated to think how hard it had to be to get fresh or at least preserved food. The thought that the commander would have to pick up the tab on that added to the enjoyment, and she dug in.

"No one really knows," he said. "That weapon that everyone was working on and that was supposed to kill off all the Reapers was delivered to the Citadel, and that human Spectre went to activate it."

She smiled grimly. "And instead of killing the Reapers it turned everyone into new and improved versions and made us hear each others thoughts for a while." Varinnia shook her head. She wondered whether Shepard had known what would happen. Maybe it all had been a malfunction, or simply user error. Humans, she thought. They always were so eager to fiddle with technology they had no understanding of. Almost as bad as asari.

She eyed the soldier. "Are the Reapers still around?"

His attention seemed to be completely on a nice cube of fish. "Many are. They seem at least sympathetic to organics now, and so far they have been playing a part in rebuilding."

"So far," she repeated. "But you expect there to be trouble." It wasn't a question.

He sighed, and popped the morsel into his mouth, swallowed. "I don't see a way around it. If they just went away, so people wouldn't have to see them and could move on, maybe it could would be different. But we need the relays, and for that we need them. So they are here, and that constant reminder..." He shrugged. "They did what they did, and got away with it. They are still alive. That won't sit too well with a lot of people who have lost everything."

She didn't reply and watched the feed instead, a in her opinion overly optimistic report about reconstruction on Tuchanka. Krogans, building things instead of destroying them, and starting families. Those were strange times.

But Varak seemed to wait for some statement from her, politely enough, and she suppressed a sigh. "Who have you lost?" she asked, instead.

He didn't blink. "I was at Menae. I made it out. No one else of my family or friends did."

There was nothing she could say to that. Offering any sort of condolences or sympathy would be like a slap in the face, coming from someone like her who had never been in the military, and who had come in late in the fighting, and only on duty on the supply lines at that. She had done her share of fighting husks, but only much later on, on Chesed. She said it anyway. "I'm sorry."

He waved her words away. "Doesn't matter." There was anger buried deeply in his voice, but not directed at her. Not yet, anyway. "But why are you flying on a Reaper? How can you stand it?"

She wondered how much of this was his own idea, and how much was orders from his commander. But it was a honest question, and deserved a honest answer. "I'm not a soldier, " she replied. "and I think we have had enough of fighting to last us for a time. That war is over. We can only try to find a way to deal with the consequences." Hell with it, she thought. "It had no preference of its own what to do next. This is what I suggested. Would you rather I'd suggest something else?"

A flash of anger was in his eyes now. "You could have told it to go and throw itself into the nearest sun."

She bit back the angry retort she might have made, but it was an effort.

"And why does it listen to you?" To you, of all things, he didn't add.

Varinnia shrugged. "I have no idea. Ask it yourself. Then tell me its answer, if you understand it."

He hissed. "We are ordered not to communicate with them, at the moment. I will follow those orders. But don't you see for yourself what they are doing? It's just a change of tactics. They are turning us against each other."

She gave him a look, but the sudden weariness that gripped her made her rethink her answer. "I don't think we need them for that. From where I'm standing, it looks to me that we are doing a good job of that all on our own."

She pushed her tray away. It was a pity and an insult to the meal, but she found that she had lost her appetite.

The more things change, she thought. She would stay, of course, until this matter was resolved one way or another, but the impulse was there to get up, get aboard the Reaper and trade it all for the quiet of space. Being stranded on Chesed among aliens had certainly driven her almost crazy. But she had forgotten that prolonged exposure to most members of her own species tended to have a quite similar effect.

 

 

 

All in all, it took longer than she would have estimated for the station commander to give up. Varinnia was grounded station-side for a week and a half, left to entertain herself as she was able to.

Varak remained assigned to her and as polite as he had been before, but he no longer seemed to be interested in much personal conversation. He answered questions readily enough, but she could tell from his manner that he already had labelled her, and while she wasn't surprised by that she found it tiresome.

She hadn't heard anything from the Reaper since she had left it in dock, and hadn't tried to contact it herself. She figured that Imvaris might just as well have her shot at trying to convince it.

The fact still remained that she was getting bored. Despite the assertion that she was not confined to her quarters, having an uniformed guard with her at all times took the fun out of almost any activity she might have pursued otherwise. There was no one on the station that she knew, and she didn’t feel like making new acquaintances with Varak breathing down her neck. The guest lodgings were comfortable, but apart from an extranet terminal that tended to freeze up on her most of the time, all she could do to entertain herself was to watch the vidstreams, and the selection of channels was rather limited. There were only so many hours of watching amateur clawball matches that she could stomach.

She was watching a rather dreadful talk show that left her with again a very diminished esteem for her fellow galactic citizens when Varak relayed to her the summons to the commander's office.

Imvaris looked even more annoyed this time around, if that even was possible. In addition to this, which Varinnia suspected was probably just her normal state of mind, she looked tired.

"Very well," she snapped as Varinnia came to a halt in front of her. "It seems you are going to continue to be a strain on my patience."

Varinnia tried for a mild tone but was sure she wasn't succeeding altogether. "I take it your negotiations didn't go so well."

Imvaris' glare was impressive. "I have had two official representatives talking to this machine. Both of them already have experience in this matter. And both of them report exactly the same: it's not aggressive, it's offering to help, but it insists on primarily working with you." Her glare turned up a few degrees. "What have you done to make it do that?"

Varinnia shrugged. "I don't know. Did you ask it?" She was genuinely interested in that answer.

The commander snorted, and turned away to regard a screen showing the Reaper in its docking bay with visible displeasure. "I am told that communicating with it is more difficult than with others of its kind." She flicked a mandible in disdain. "Maybe it is defective." She turned around again, eyes still angry. "Let's make this clear from the beginning." she said, voice crisp. "I don't want either of you on my station. I have enough potential trouble at my hands as is. Maybe you can be of use, but I am convinced that the potential risks outweigh any good that might come out of it."

Varinnia lifted her head, but remained silent.

"However, I have my orders, too." Her expression was sour, and she made no attempt to cover it. "Your application has been accepted. You are now part of the transport services in this sector."

Varinnia nodded. Of course they wouldn't just let them go off. Imvaris might have preferred another solution, but since that wasn't to be, the best all of them could do was to keep them close enough to observe. She wasn't surprised. After all, she wasn’t even a citizen.

“You will be restricted to cargo. You will not carry any passengers.”

She suppressed a smile. That suited her fine, actually. She hadn’t intended to take on passengers anyway, and she doubted that the Reaper had, either.

"What are your orders, then?"

She had tried for a calm tone, but if anything, that seemed to infuriate the commander even more. "You'll receive the flight-plan shortly." she snapped. Her teeth flashed momentarily as she lowered her mandibles, then drew them in tight again. "You think you have won, don't you?"

Varinnia's own temper finally came through. "I wasn't aware that we were playing a game. I thought I was here to be useful in making this part of the galaxy liveable again."

A barely contained snarl. "And you will. For now. But in time you will regret that you didn't take the ship you were offered and ran."

As threats went, Varinnia supposed it wasn't half bad, although she had heard better. Under any other circumstances, it might have been fun to take up that thrown gauntlet. But the useless days on the station had wearied her, and she wanted a change of location.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, instead.

"No. Dismissed."

 

 

She left the office, annoyance warring with impatience. Varak was still waiting outside, and his presence irritated her.

"I don't think you are needed any longer. I'm leaving."

He nodded, not surprised, and didn't show much reaction as she brushed past him.

"Wait," he said, and something in the tone made her pause even if the word did not.

"What?"

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "You'll hear about it soon enough anyway. You are not the only one."

She blinked, confused. "The only one what?"

"The only one who is getting a bit too comfortable with a Reaper. Seems like more of those things do this, choose one or more organics of any species as spokespersons.” His tone turned contemptuous. “Or tools, or pets. Or whatever it is any living being can be to them."

She frowned. She could see nothing unreasonable in that. They needed to interact with someone, didn't they? It made perfect sense that they preferred a dedicated liaison. "And you have a problem with that."

Varak gave a rude noise. "Doesn't matter whether I do or don't. The thing is that a number of those have already wound up dead."

That got her attention. "Dead in what way?"

"Different ways. Most were accidents, some of them pretty freaky. Some were natural deaths."

She shook her head. "You think the Reapers have anything to do with that? That they kill their liaisons? What would be the point in that?"

"I'm not saying that either." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning carelessly against the wall. "I think close to a Reaper isn't what can be called a healthy environment. They used to influence the thoughts of anyone close to them, make them work for them, like them. Who is to say what they can do, and are doing now?" At her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "Maybe they are just bad luck. I don't know. You don't have to believe me. Do your own research, make up your own mind."

She hesitated, then decided to humour him was probably best. "Thanks for the warning. But so far, I feel perfectly fine."

His serious expression didn't change. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

She wanted to laugh and disprove it, but as loath as she was to admit it, there was that tiny, nagging doubt. He was right in that, at least. You never knew, with something as alien as a Reaper.

Despite that gloomy thought, her spirits lifted as she approached the docking bay.

She wasn't really surprised to see the dock crew already at work loading crates into the Reaper. Going by the sheer number of workers, they were given priority treatment, even if none of them looked very enthusiastic about their task. She smiled grimly. Imvaris really was in a hurry to get them out of her fringe.

That was just fine with her. "And how have you been?" she asked the Reaper as she reached its airlock.

The reply was a detailed image of the Reaper itself, its legs about halfway up to the first joint encased in ice while the plates at its 'head' twitched. _< Frustration.>_

It startled a laugh out of her, enough to make one of the ground crew who was passing by with a small vehicle loaded with crates look at her in alarm. She didn't bother to explain, or even tried keep her voice down. "Yes, that sounds just like my week. But I think they will be done soon, and we can be on our way."

 _< Stars>_, it replied, with open longing, and she wholeheartedly agreed.

 


	4. cooperation

 

 

 

_cooperation_

 

 

The Reaper was in approach to Sphene, a small mining outpost clinging to an unremarkable moon in the Traikon system. On the whole, Varinnia thought, it wasn't much of a view. The moon looked a dirty greenish brown colour. The station itself looked like a random assembly of geometrical shapes, spheres, cubes, discs, connected by straight tubes. It was a very dated design, and one that seemed unburdened by any pretence at aesthetics or balance. The planet it was orbiting was an unwelcoming gas giant, and the sun the system boasted was a relatively small white star nearing the end of its lifetime.

From the outside, the whole of it looked less than inviting.

Varinnia shook her head and called up a screen from her console. With a few taps, she opened a channel to the station. After a few seconds, contact was established, and a human's face replaced the static on the screen. His face was more angular than she was used to in his species, lined, and the shade of aged wood. The hair on his head was trimmed short and a few shades lighter than his skin, and partially streaked with grey. She approved of the colours.

The relief on his face was readable even to someone with limited experience with the species as her.

"This is Laeth transport," she told him. "requesting permission to land."

"Sphene station, Taggart here. Permission to land granted, Laeth transport. Landing pad is clear." He smiled. "Good to see a friendly face for once." Before she had a chance to reply to that, he already had cut transmission.

She blinked, then shrugged. "Well, seems this will be civil." She studied the station's layout, magnified the landing field. "Can you set down close to the main warehouse there?"

The Reaper gave wordless agreement, and swooped down. It extended its legs only just before touching down, and came to a halt with a smoothness that another ship would find hard to match. It made her wonder whether it was showing off.

She went down to the lowest level, suited up and halted at the airlock, considering. The Marauder stood waiting, a silent question in the angle of its misshapen head.

"I think you better stay aboard for now. Chesed was different, people there have became used to you wandering about. I'm not sure they will be as laid-back here."

There was no reply from the Reaper, and no expression in the stance of the Marauder, as it turned and retreated back further into the ship.

She shook her head, feeling vaguely disturbed without being able to tell why. With more force than strictly necessary, she tapped the controls to slide the airlock open.

 

 

There were several figures in heavy env suits already out on the field and approaching the Reaper, presumably ready to start unloading, energetically waving at her in passing. She turned towards the station entrance.

Once past the entrance and out of the env suit, she found three humans already waiting for her. One was the human male who had spoken to her via com on approach and identified himself as Taggart, apparently the one in charge of this place. He seemed friendly in a calm way that she found herself to be responding to without having to try as they made their introductions.

The second was a female who referred to herself as Buckley, who acted more reserved than Taggart, but seemed happy enough to take charge of the datapad with the cargo manifest that Varinnia offered her. She quickly took her leave, presumably to help with the unloading.

Last, there was a compact-looking male introduced to her as Blair, who kept quiet and in the background.

It was mostly Taggart who kept up conversation, while leading them through cramped corridors, from one substructure into the next.

The third structure they passed through briefly was a brightly lit hall filled with tanks holding plants of all shapes and sizes, giving the impression of a jungle growing out of vats. Varinnia flicked one mandible in surprise. This was a bigger greenhouse than she'd have expected in a facility like this.

One human male, half hidden among the greenery, was waving at them urgently, and Taggart excused himself hastily.

Varinnia watched him make his way to the other miner, then thoughtfully looked back at the remaining human.

All of them had, to her at least, looked strained, but in reasonably good shape, better than could be expected, considering that they had been cut off for quite some time now. But that heavy-set male definitely had more problems than that. The left side of his face was scarred, a scrap of fabric tied to cover one eye. His left arm was missing from the elbow on, replaced by a crude bare-metal construction that ended in one thumb and two fingers.

Blair noted her look and grinned one-sided. "Accident," he said. "Stood too close when a hot gas valve blew." He lifted the replacement arm, and wiggled the two fingers, rather awkwardly. "Friend made me this, works well enough. But damned if I know how you people manage with only two fingers."

She couldn't help grinning in reply even if she wanted to wince. "Two suits me just fine, thank you very much. So, your station medic did that?"

He shrugged. "She's good, and the med bay is high end, but I'll need a specialist to have it fixed all the way." He seemed rather matter-of-fact about it, which she approved of.

Then a thought struck her. She narrowed her eyes and sent an image of him to the Reaper.

Its reply was a wordless jumble of different impulses, interest, curiosity, but mostly it seemed appalled at the bad integration. Apparently while its first reaction didn't include any sympathy or pity that she could detect, it did have something like professional pride.

_Do we have anything on board that can be of help here?_

_< An image of the miner, sitting in the med bay aboard the Reaper, a scanner running over him.>_ A question.

_I'll tell him._

"If you want, you can have it looked at on my ship." she offered.

His eyes widened. "You mean the Reaper," he said.

She suppressed a sigh. "It won't hurt you. Maybe it can help some." She paused. "I think it has some experience."

In truth, she wouldn't have blamed him for not even considering the offer. But maybe his injuries bothered him more than he let on, or maybe he was simply braver than her, because he slowly nodded. "Now?" he asked.

"I don't see why not."

He hesitated, then squared his shoulders in sudden resolve. "You are right. I'll talk to it."

She watched him walk away, and wondered briefly, but the other human was already coming back, which took her mind off this particular problem..

"Always something going wrong," Taggart said in a long-suffering tone, but from his expression she could tell that the complaint wasn't meant seriously.

He didn't inquire about the other human, but she considered it likely that they had just talked via the links their cybernetics provided. The humans and asari on Chesed had taken to that new technology quickly enough. As long as no one expected the same from her, she didn't care one way or another.

"I think that’s the same everywhere" she commented, then took another look at the plants. “That setup is quite impressive.”

 He laughed. “It’s a workaround, as so much around here is, but I think it has turned out well. Now, come on, let’s find somewhere more comfortable to sit down.”

 

 

 

A quarter of an hour later, she was leaning in a chair that wasn't made for anyone with her anatomy and that made her shift every few minutes trying to untangle her spurs, a glass of some really vile alcoholic beverage in her hand, and listening to her hosts talking. 

The room was just a rather small commons area, tech and furniture old but serviceable, and kept at a temperature that was high enough to make her slightly drowsy. The place was becoming crowded, with more and more of the station's inhabitants coming in. Varinnia had already given up on trying to remember their names, or tell them apart. They all looked mostly the same to her, dressed in durable, hard-wearing civilian clothes, and all of them in a good mood.

It was surprisingly comfortable. There were some things that transcended species, some qualities that were the same in all of them who made their living out in remote places like this. This place didn’t look like much, but it felt like a good place, with the people actually being a community and taking care of each other. It was a much less structured group than it would have been if it had been turians instead of humans, but the general feel was the same, gave her something to relate to, no matter what they looked like.

It felt like a home. And they were going out of her way to make her feel welcome here, which wasn’t something she had expected at all.

"So, how many of you are here?" she asked.

Taggart smiled. "Thirty-seven lost souls on this gods-forsaken piece of rock. It's been some time since we last had a ship in."

"How long have you been here?"

He shrugged. "Normally we sign on for six months, " he said, "then we are rotated out for leave, then either come back here or switch over to another station. But our transport wasn't due until after the war had started, and after that, no one dared to come out and get us." His tone was bitter for a moment.

Varinnia lowered her head, remembering. "They hit hard, fast, and at too many points at once." She hesitated, then added, "I was close to Eidolon station when they attacked, in a Lampyrid class ship with no weapons. We couldn't do anything but run." 

He nodded once. "Can't blame you. Would have been suicidal to do anything else." He shrugged again. "We're not complaining. Could have been much worse, after all. We never even saw one of the Reapers. The most frightening thing that happened was that green wave, and suddenly hearing each other shouting in our heads. But before that, we were just stuck here, watching the news."

"Sometimes that's worse," she admitted softly, then shook herself. "How did you manage without the supply ships?"

Taggart laughed. "By improvising. You have seen the greenhouse. We already had hydroponics, so we just had to extend, rig up more of them, as many as we could fit. Heat comes as a byproduct of the mining, and the generators have held together so far. Granted, the food isn't much, and the place lacks entertainment and comfort, but we can hold out here for a good time longer." 

She nodded, unable to suppress a certain admiration as others added some stories about the workarounds they had found, the improvisations they had made to make things work. Humans were resourceful, and usually they just didn't give up. It was one of their more admirable traits. "You did well."

Taggart laughed again, pleased. "We managed. Still, good to have you in."

She understood that too. Sure, they made it sound easy now, but it couldn't have been easy, cut off from transport, and presumably forgotten. They might not be in immediate danger of starving or dying of exposure, but they would certainly need the cargo from the Reaper's stores. They'd need, at the very least, medical equipment and replacements for whatever they couldn't manufacture on their own. Communication to the outside was restored, but they still wanted to hear news about the latest events from an actual person, face-to-face. And in addition to that, they simply needed to know that they were not forgotten, or left to live or die on their own, that someone somewhere cared.

"So," one of the miners, a female with a triangular face and a reddish fringe, asked. "how did you end up teamed up with a Reaper?"

The question had been inevitable, she supposed, and it was far from the first time she heard it, but she was damned if she knew how to answer it. "That just happened. I was stuck on Chesed, and three of them were walking all over the colony, when that green wave hit. They had blown up every ship in port, so there was no way to get offworld." She shrugged. "It offered transport offworld, and I went with it. It became more than that one trip. This seemed the right thing to do." She shrugged again.

"Is it true what they said on the news? That they were controlled by something else to do what they did?" That was one of the males, a younger one that seemed quite curious.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I only know that they were changed. They are different now, too."

"It doesn't sound evil to me," another mused, quite audibly, eyes unfocused as he listened to whatever the ambient link told him by way of his cybernetics "Just very strange." A female beside him elbowed him none too gently, and he seemed to come awake again, blinking in confusion. "Are they all like that?"

Varinnia shook her head. "I cannot say. I never talked to any other than this one."

"Very strange," the man repeated. He seemed to go absent again, intent on figuring out that puzzle. Varinnia wished him the best of luck. She knew it wasn't that easy.

She was saved from having to say anything as some minor commotion started at the entrance of the crowded commons. She only caught partial sentences, not the part of conversation that was held via personal or ambient links, which the humans seemed to do a lot, and craned her head to see.

The miner she had sent back to the Reaper was back, apparently quite unharmed. He looked, at least to her, and from a distance, none the worse for wear.

She lost sight of him again almost immediately in the crowd, but moments later he pushed through the people closest to her, and she had the opportunity to have a closer look.

His crude eyepatch was gone, and the eye it had covered was, to all appearances, normal enough, with the same faint green cybernetic glow that all of them had, these days. His arm, which he showed off in a rather proud gesture, seemed normal to her, too, although the colour didn't quite match. She wondered what the replacement was made of.

He wriggled his fingers. "As good as new," he told her. "And it didn't even hurt. Just looked a bit creepy when it fixed me up."

She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but another of them pulled on his shoulder, shouting some joke she didn't get, and he was gone again into the crowd.

"Are there plans to get you out of here yet?" she asked Taggart.

"Nothing definite so far," Taggart replied, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. "Lots of promises, of course. Company is looking into it to get everyone home again." He snorted, his tone making it clear how much faith he had in that.

"Or what's left of it," the red-haired woman threw in. "Most of us are from Arkadia. Things don't look too good there."

"There's that," Taggart agreed. "This here doesn't count as comfortable, but so far we have been safe here." He grinned. "Even with a Reaper on our landing pad."

"You don't have any problems with it?" she wondered.

He started to reply, but the woman cut him off. "We go by things we see. What we have seen is that we haven't heard anything from our employers until two weeks ago, and that was well after Laeth called in and said they'd send us supplies." Her tone got hard for a moment. "So then it is a Reaper that comes in to help, and a turian. Not one of our own. That says something, and we won't forget that."

She didn't know what to reply to that. Aliens, she thought. They are organised differently.

"I think you'll get regular traffic again soon enough," she said. "With all the rebuilding going on, everyone needs resources. Everything that's used in building ships and construction is in high demand."

"We know that," Taggart replied, his tone dry. "They can't afford to forget about us again. But until then, we're on our own." He looked at her, and his mood changed back to even. "The mechs are loading your Reaper, with as much refined iridium and tungsten as it can fit." His smile turned crooked. "It won't be missed from the accounts here. Take it, trade it or use it to fix your own stations and ships, whatever you need to keep doing this." He shrugged. "We are glad for the supplies and the news, but we could have held out for longer if it had been necessary. Somewhere else, some people will be less lucky, and they'll need help from people like you."

She cocked her head to one side, curious. "But we're just doing our job. We don't need payment or reward. You don't have to do this."

He smiled. "From what you said, neither do you. Or that Reaper."

Technically, it was still theft, and she didn't want to know what the punishment for that would be at times like this. Imvaris was certain to have fits. But on the moral side of things, it might be right. There was no question how she would decide.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll do my best to see that it goes somewhere useful."

 

 

 

The summoning to the station commander's office took less time than Varinnia had calculated. Imvaris was in a fine display of barely suppressed rage as she came in, she noted with admiration. The grey-scaled woman's mandibles were held tight to her mouth.

"What do you think you’re doing?" she snapped without preamble.

"Doing my job. I'm a supply runner, am I not?"

Imvaris did not snarl, which Varinnia considered quite a feat of self-control. "You cannot engage in criminal activities while you are under my command."

Varinnia flicked a mandible. "I didn't steal from them."

"No, but they had no right to give property of their employers away."

Varinnia sighed. "Well, it's here anyway. File it as salvage if you have to, and just use it as you see fit."

Imvaris' voice was cold. "This is not how we operate on my station. The law applies to everyone here, yourself and that Reaper included."

Varinnia flared her mandibles incredulously. "Are you really going to give me grief about this? I would have thought that in times as this, we have other problems than your sticking to regulations that were made for peace times." 

There was a hiss now in the commander's undertones, something fierce and furious. "The rules apply especially in times as these. Do you really think you can pick and choose? That you can allow anarchy in for just a little while and then expect order to restore itself when it is convenient for you?" Her voice dropped. "This is not how it can work."

Varinnia stared at her blankly. She really should know better by now. "So. Rules are more important than saving lives, is that it?" 

"You know the answer to that already."

They stared at each other, until Varinnia sighed and lowered her head, token submission that was merely a matter of protocol. "What do you want me to do?"

The snarl was now open in Imvaris' voice. "I want you to get out of my sight while I devote more time I don't have to straighten out this mess. You are confined to the station until further notice." Her mandibles dropped, showing her teeth. "Now get the hell out of my office."

Varinnia suppressed a snarl of her own, and left.

Imvaris' second-in-command was just outside, throwing her a quick glance. His mandibles twitched with suppressed amusement. "You still have trouble with Hierarchy discipline, I see."

She glared at him, then bared her teeth.

Varak only laughed, and she swallowed a curse and made for the docks.

 

 

 

Despite Imvaris' words, the station crew was already busy at unloading the Reaper's current cargo. She shook her head again in annoyance, but told herself that this was out of her hands now.

She noted a turian in a standard engineering uniform holding a datapad moving with a rather graceless gait across the dock to stand close to the Reaper's airlock. He looked at it, the tilt of his head questioning.

Something about that raised her curiosity, and she came closer.

At first glance, she'd have taken him to be a lot older than herself, but from closer up she amended that. His facial plates were weathered and lined, but their lines were still unwarped. His mandibles were rather broad, giving him a calm, laid-back demeanour. From the way that he stood and the way she'd seen him walk, she could see that something had to be wrong with his left leg; it didn't seem to bend much at the knee. There were no rank insignia on his uniform, which was unusual and almost certainly against regulations. That fact alone was something that she counted in his favour.

He looked up from his datapad. "Ah, you are the Reaper's pilot, aren't you?"

She lowered her mandibles. "I don't know whether that's the right word."

There was humour in the twitch of his mandibles. "Maybe not. I'm Lanril Cartaeus, head of engineering." The inflection he used in his undertones indicated that he was not insisting on protocol, and using his first name only was fine with him.

"Varinnia," she replied, keeping her undertones flat, not bothering with parts of her name that she no longer considered a part of herself.

He apparently was used to that custom, because he didn't even blink. "Good to meet you." His mandibles twitched. "I'm trying to figure out what sort of maintenance and resupplying your ship here needs, apart from the standard kit of supplies for you and for general emergencies. I'm doubling as quartermaster in this case, too, since the fool whose job that normally would be won't go near the Reaper."

She bristled at the Reaper being called her ship, but couldn't quite suppress a smile of her own at his tone as he continued. 

"I tried to ask, but its reply doesn't make much sense to me."

She sighed. "You're probably not the only one there."

There was again that mandible-twitch, a very faint smile. "Can you try to translate?" 

_Well?_ she asked the Reaper. _I think you understood him well enough. Is there anything you need or want from him or the station's supplies?_

The Reaper's reply was faint, as it its mind was on something else altogether. All she got was an impression of calm, vague contentment.

She took that as a no.

"Not at the moment," she told Lanril.

Lanril nodded. "Fine, then." He regarded the Reaper with interest. She could detect no resentment in him, which was enough to give her pause again. The station crew's reactions ranged from downward hostile to wary, usually. 

"It's an interesting design," he offered, still watching the ship with what she classified as professional respect. "and apparently very efficient." He stowed his datapad away. "Well, let me know if there is anything that it needs." He hesitated, then curiosity seemed to get the better of him. "What does the inside of it look like?"

The lingering bad mood she had left from the encounter with Imvaris almost made her snap at him, and suggest that he'd go and ask the Reaper itself, if he wanted to know. But she checked the impulse. He had done nothing to deserve it, after all. His interest seemed genuine, and he didn't seem to hate or fear the Reaper on sight. She considered that it might be a start. "Surprisingly normal, but if you want, I can give you a tour, and you can see for yourself."

He seemed both pleased, and genuinely regretful. "I would like that, but I'm still on duty. Maybe next time when you are around, and things are a bit more quiet?"

"Sure." Vaguely puzzled, she watched him walk away for a moment, then shrugged and turned towards the Reaper’s airlock.

 


	5. sights

 

 

_sights_

 

 

Varinnia jerked awake in her bunk, still disoriented, remnants of some confusing dream stuck in her mind. Something there hadn't belonged, and woken her. She blinked bleary eyes and slowly sat up.

_< Something prodding at the edge of her perception>_

"What the -" She looked down at her hand where the comm link still was attached. Maybe she should have taken it off before going to sleep. She scratched it absently, her mind already running through unpleasant possibilities. The Reaper had never woken her before, so it could be assumed that it had a good reason for it.

"What is wrong?"

_< Impatience>_

That didn't sound like an emergency, at least. But there was no doubt that it wanted something. "What is it?"

_< An image of the observation deck. Impatience again.>_

"All right, I'm on my way." She grumbled, but swung her legs out of bed. After a moment's thinking, she grabbed a simple robe from a storage locker and shrugged it on.

 

 

The claws of her bare toes clicked on the metal of the deck as she stepped onto the observation deck. The room was almost completely dark. She didn't hesitate as she walked roughly into the middle of it, finding her way by touch and instinct rather than night vision.

"So. What did you want to show me?"

The room's holographic displays flickered into life, and she fought an irrational spell of dizziness as the room around her was seemingly replaced by the dark void of space, with the light of stars in the distance. She still felt the solid ground of the deck under her toes, and she knew it was all just a projection, but it still was vaguely disorienting. The room was suddenly illuminated by the view of a bright red sun, its surface a churning, swirling mass. A flare was rising up from it, deceptively slow, blossoming outward in a brilliant display of colour and energy.

Her eyes widened. "Oh. That's...pretty."

_< Satisfaction.>_

She didn't wonder whether they were too close or whether they were in any danger of the sun's eruptions. The Reaper would know about that better than she did. Any remaining traces of fatigue were gone when she sat down on the deck to enjoy the view. 

A complicated symbol from the Reaper, one that she had learned to translate as 'wait.' She did.

She couldn't say how much time had passed, but there was something calming and peaceful in this projection of their current environment.

Then a second, much larger flare came up, almost blinding in its brilliance, and she was struck by the colours in it. She had seen vids of this, of course, but never the real live event - usually any sun in an active phase like this wasn't a place one wanted to be close to in any sort of ship if it could be avoided. The flare had a lot more colours than she would have thought.

The angle of view changed, and she knew they were moving, circling the sun in what probably was not a safe distance for any other ship, then the Reaper held position again. It was clear from its behaviour that it had put them into what it deemed a good viewing position and was now standing by, waiting. Apparently it was completely sure that it could predict the location and timing of this star's activity accurately.

It made her smile despite herself. "You are like a tour guide."

_< Contentment.>_

She couldn't be sure, but what she felt from the Reaper almost seemed like amusement. It made her wonder why it was showing this to her, whether it thought that display beautiful, too, whether it had a concept and sense of aesthetics.

"Do you like the colours of this?" She paused. "Do you even see it like that?"

 _< Puzzlement. Curiosity. A blurry image of herself, partially transparent, the cybernetics that ran parallel to her major nerves standing out in detail like a green, glowing network. >_ Then some wordless impulse, something she understood as a request.

She frowned. "I didn't get that."

It sent some jumbled symbols, clearly struggling to explain, then seemed to give up on trying to make itself understood that way. She still flinched when she felt the comm link react, changing configuration. The closest analogy she could come up with was that there was another channel that she had been unaware of until now, something more low-level. It seemed to lean closer, slowly, deliberately, letting her know what it was doing. Contact, like a calm, firm touch, leaving her with a very faint wave of disorientation that faded as fast as she became aware of it.

The projection of the space around them disappeared and was replaced by a quick sequence of colours and simple patterns that rushed past almost too fast to make sense of them. Calibration, she thought, half amused, half taken aback. Then, without any obvious end to the sequence, the view of the outside reappeared.

_< The exact same image that she was seeing right now, down to the exact shades of colour, overlapping her vision in an exact match.>_

It was somehow patched into her perception, attempting to see what she did. She drew her mandibles back from her jaws, not sure how she felt about this. It didn't hurt, or even feel uncomfortable. She could tell in some way that the Reaper was there, sharing in the signal, so it wasn't like it was doing anything on the sly. In a way it was disturbing, unfamiliar, but she was aware that with their physiology changed like it had been, the rules of what was strange and disturbing and unacceptable were changing as well. The Reaper was merely making use of a technology that had become available, and the practical part of her mind readily agreed that this might become an useful ability at some point. 

So she relaxed, slowly, settling in again, acutely aware of that odd sensation in the link. She didn't mind it, though, because that way she at least knew that it was there. But she couldn't help wondering whether there were side-effects to this.

_< Anticipation.>_

It was enough warning, and this time she could see the differences in colour in the sun's surface. Then she saw the flare build up, and finally explode outward, reaching out like a glowing, impossibly bright tendril. It remained for a while, and only after its energy had dissipated did it collapse again, returning into the sun's surface.

"Beautiful," she admitted, almost grudgingly.

_< Agreement. A touch of satisfaction>_

Then she felt the Reaper's odd touch lighten and fade as it disconnected itself from her perception again. She felt dizzy for a split second, but caught herself quickly, although her breathing was still too fast.

The angle of the view changed again, and she deduced from that that the show was over, and the Reaper was resuming its original course. She should have returned to her cabin, but instead she stayed, lulled into a near-meditative state by the calm view. The illusion was perfect; it was like moving in space on her own.

She finally stretched out on the deck, unceremoniously, briefly wondering whether it was possible to sleep here, and if so, whether she should try. It was odd, maybe, but this felt relaxing and peaceful to her, and she couldn't but wonder whether the Reaper experienced it that way, too. If so, then she understood why it always was so eager to return to space.

"Thanks for showing me," she finally told it.

Its only reply was a wordless flicker of contentment.

 

 


	6. ghosts

 

 

_ghosts_

 

 

"This is simply ridiculous." Varinna leaned back on her couch in the small commons and threw a disapproving look at the vid screen that currently showed a Reaper - one of the dreadnoughts - sitting on a spaceport that was reported to be on Earth. Humans were swarming around it, nervously, like insects.

A wordless, questioning impulse from the Reaper.

She pointed, agitated. "There. Do you see it? It has markings on its hull. Markings."

The same impulse again.

"I think the humans did that. They must have, no one else would think of that. Yes, so it did help out one of their ships when it didn't have to, and it has assigned itself to Earth, but why would anyone paint its hull in Alliance colours?"

_< An image of her own face, faded green markings over the grey of her plates.>_

"That's different," she objected, insulted. "It's to show your home and allegiance.

_< The image of the other Reaper, its marked hull in clear detail, a selection of Alliance ships in comparison beside it.>_

The similarities, she had to admit, were there. "It's not an Alliance battleship. Earth is not its home."

The Reaper didn't deign to answer that, and she considered, suddenly doubting. "Or is it? Does it come from there, originally?" It was possible. Maybe another species had lived on that world and had been harvested by the Reapers before the humans evolved. It was so easy to forget about the time frame of it all.

It didn't reply, which either meant that it didn't know or didn't really want to say.

She shrugged. It was difficult to argue with it, although that wasn’t for lack of trying. "It still is ridiculous. They even named it. It refers to itself as Aditi."

_< Approval.>_

She sat up straight. "Why? Don't you have names of your own, that you need to be named by someone else?"

_< A star forming out of drifting interstellar matter left behind by other events>_

"Change," she translated aloud. "You are different, so you need to be named differently, too?

 _< Agreement.>_

"Makes sense, I suppose," she conceded, albeit grudgingly. She regarded the news report critically, but her mind was already elsewhere. "Has anyone ever named you?" 

Silence.

"But you do have a name?"

 _< A series of symbols, incomprehensible. >_

It made her head hurt. "I don't suppose that translates well."

To her surprise, it tried again.

_< A small white star. A chunk of rock drifting by, perhaps a leftover of a planet after some cataclysmic event. It turned slowly, showing a crystalline part of its surface. One of the crystals, just as uneven and jagged as the others, caught the light of the distant sun for a moment, a spark of light briefly on its facet before the rock turned, the angle changed and it was dark again. That sound.>_

Varinnia blinked. "But light does not make sound," was all she could think of to say.

 _< Impatience.>_ After a moment, _< Resignation.>_

"That probably really is lost in translation," she told it, feeling sorry for some reason she didn't quite understand.

_< Agreement.>_

The notification sound of an incoming transmission saved her from having to make any reply. Without any prompting from her side, the Reaper switched the screen from vid channel to incoming.

Varinnia was treated to a close-up of a harried-looking Commander Imvaris. "There is a new assignment for you. We lost contact with a freighter somewhere between Fargone and Wisp some days ago. One of the grid posts has found it again, but it isn't responding. You are closest, so we want you to take a look at it."

The Reaper split the screen and displayed the course and destination.

Varinnia took a look at it and grimaced. "That's in the Sea of Ghosts."

Imvaris snorted. "So it is. I hope you don't want to tell me that you of all people are superstitious." You're the one flying a Reaper, her undertones said quite clearly.

Varinnia twitched a mandible. "It's not superstition. It's not a safe place. And it's a good bit off that freighter’s course. How did it end up there?"

Imvaris looked like she was at the end of her patience already. "That's what you are going to find out. Go, take a look, report back on what you find." She waved a hand. "We don't have much hope about the crew. But we should try to recover whatever we can from its cargo.

Varinnia had already seen the cargo manifest. Medical supplies. It didn't take much of a leap to get the picture. She had seen the sketchy reports about the outbreak of stone fever on Rothun. "Rothun," she said, "I heard about that. What's the situation there?"

"Quarantine lockdown," the commander replied, again looking too tired to keep the low level hostility on. "So far they can contain the outbreak, but they are running out of supplies."

Varinnia nodded. "We'll do our best."

For once that didn't earn her an immediate snap. Imvaris really had to be as exhausted as she looked.

"We are counting on that. Laeth out."

Varinnia shook her head. "What do you know. That sounded almost civilised." She dismissed the commander from her thoughts. "Sea of Ghosts. Well, I haven't been there yet, although I have heard stories. What do you think about this?"

_< A dark region filled with swirling dust that hides at least one neutron star. Intense magnetic fields. Difficult to navigate. A mass relay somewhere inside the region, but dark and inactive, maybe broken.>_

She grimaced again. "Sounds just perfect." She hadn’t known that there was a forgotten relay in the Sea, but since the Reaper believed it to be inactive, it was of no further consequence. To her best knowledge, the closest relay to there was Bennu. Wordlessly, she plotted a course, and watched without any surprise as the Reaper corrected it, substituting one relay she hadn’t known about and cutting out three others. She was used to this by now, the Reaper knowing shortcuts between relays that didn’t exist on any map she was aware of. It was something it didn’t like to discuss, but she had the impression that it wasn’t a general Reaper trick, but something that was specific to this one. “All right,” she conceded and regarded the new route. After the Bennu relay, it was still several days’ worth of travel to the Sea of Ghosts, for a normal ship. She wondered how long it would take them. The Reaper didn’t like to give estimates for travel time - and they still had trouble agreeing on common measurement units - but it often travelled distances a lot faster than it had any right to.

It sent an impulse of agreement and started to change course.

Varinnia was once again vaguely surprised that she could tell the difference in its flight. Until now, it had been drifting along almost lazily, maintaining a very slow spin. She wouldn't call it playful, because the mere idea was just wrong, and relaxed was maybe not the right description for a machine's actions either. Now it leveled out, and she felt its presence more than before. Sharper, more aware, somehow more real. She didn't want to wonder whether it had been daydreaming before.

No, she told herself sharply. She was already attributing too much organic behaviour to it as things were.

 

 

 

She had seen it often enough already, but she still was impressed by the sheer precision in its relay jumps. It didn't matter if a pilot had help of a ship VI and dedicated nav computers, there was always a slight margin for error. And any ship fresh out of a jump needed a short time to level out, the precise time depending on the pilot's skill and experience. With the Reaper, there was none of that. Then again, she told herself that mechanic or not, the hull was still its body. It would be aware of its own mass distribution. The effortless way of its jumps was still both a reminder and a slight injury to her professional pride. She had been good with her own ship, but not that good.

Somehow she hadn't been surprised when it had stopped at the last relay, showing a brief flash of surprise, then casually taken a different angle at the relay, and brought them directly into the murky gloom of the Sea of Ghosts. So there had been a relay hidden in that mess, and it was even still working.

"Why did your sort build a relay in here? Who would want to go here, ever? There's nothing here."

_< The current view of the Sea of Ghosts as they were viewing it at the moment. The same angle, a star system in the place of the neutron star.> _

She shook her head. Sometimes she still forgot about the time scale. "Right." 

They didn't speak as the Reaper made its way into the endless sheets of dust. She found that she was holding her breath, then shook herself out of it. It was a hellish place, but she wasn't the only one who was uneasy, this time. The sense of unease she felt was coming in good part from the Reaper.

She could tell it really wanted to be somewhere else as it slowly started off on their search.

 

 

 

"There it is."

Visibility was poor within the dust clouds, but the ungainly shape of the freighter stood out faintly against the floating debris.

The Reaper remained silent as it slowly closed the distance to the freighter.

Varinnia checked the data on the screens. There were no energy readings from it at all. To their instruments, it appeared dead. She touched the controls to turn up magnification. As far as she could tell, the hull showed some damage. It had to have come into the dust clouds with some speed and no kinetic shields up. The dust had both taken off some its speed and half burned itself into the hull, half sanded the hull. Even now the dust was slowly wearing away at it, but there were no breaches she could detect.

A ghost ship. How fitting for the Sea of Ghosts. She shook her head firmly. There was no need for this kind of superstition, and moreover, they had a job to do.

She went down to the lowest level and suited up, then stood by the airlock. They wouldn't be able to connect directly, of course, but the Reaper could match its speed, direction and spin and bring her close enough to reach the freighter's airlock.

A creak of metal and a dull sound puzzled her for a moment, but then she figured that the Reaper had just attached itself to the freighter's hull. She nodded. That made things easier. There were, she supposed, advantages to a mobile design in a ship.

The airlock opened, and the other ship's airlock was just within reach. She approached it.

Up close, the hull damage was very visible. She fumbled with the freighter's airlock manual override, found the panel stuck. She snarled and strained against it, then gave up with a grumble as the Marauder appeared at her shoulder. Its claws tore open the panel with disturbing ease, and turned the handles to slide it open.

She made it a point to slip by it and be the first inside the airlock, even if the scales at the back of her neck were raised. The inside of the airlock was as dark and lifeless as the scan of the ship had indicated, and just as gloomy.

The Marauder secured the outer airlock, then waited while she unlocked the inner one. There was no sound of air, so at least this section was depressurized. Cold, dark, airless, no gravity. Dead ship, she thought again.

She turned the headlight of her env suit on. The beam of light seemed weak and sick, but she knew that that had to be nerves.

The area outside the airlock was as expected, with various junk floating all over the place, but no visible damage, and no bodies. Yet. She identified an auxiliary station just at the wall and had a quick look. Then, just for the hell of it, she tried the override to restore power. The result was nothing, of course. She switched to auxiliary and tried the startup again.

She hadn't really expected anything to come of it, so the sudden rumble somewhere in the ship as the backup generators kicked in had her almost jump out of her suit. She ground her teeth, reminded herself that she wasn't going to act like a skittish space cadet on her first round out, and started rerouting the freighter’s systems.

In a rain of objects smashing against the floor, gravity came back online, followed by dim emergency lighting.

Varinnia considered. Auxiliary wouldn't be enough to get the ship's VI fully online, and she found that she wanted to hear what it would have to say. They'd have to search the whole ship anyway, although that wouldn't be as long a task as it would seem. The freighter was huge, but in terms of accessible space it was considerably smaller than the Reaper. She called up what info she had on the ship's floor plan on her HUD, then started for the main reactor.

The first dead crewman was just outside in the corridor, and she paused a moment, studying the silent form. It was a salarian, his eyes glazed over, mouth open in a grimace. His spine was bent, the limbs twisted. The hands were curved into claws, and the fingertips were torn open. To her mind, the whole pose spoke of extreme pain.

She clicked her mandibles, then went down on one knee to have a closer look. The loss of gravity had tossed the body around, and the return of it had thrown it carelessly against the corridor wall, but presumably he had frozen in the position he'd been in when he'd died. With a frown, she straightened up again, then searched the corridor more closely. Close to the next door, she found scuff marks and smears of dark brown. She had no trouble picturing him lying on the ground, clawing at the floor and wall.

She looked back at the Marauder and found that it was imitating her, examining the dead crewman. She waited, until it seemed finished. The Reaper kept silent, so presumably it had gained no fresh insights that it wanted to share.

She took the ramp down to the reactor level. There were two more crew members, also salarians, one at a control station, limbs tangled in the console, the other in a mess of open boxes and tools. She went to the control station, trying to read the controls over the dead engineer. The Marauder watched for a moment, then simply dragged the body aside to make room for her. She glared at it, not quite sure why she was irritated, then examined the console. It was powered by the auxiliary, and everything on it read cold shutdown. One panel was removed, the lever for the emergency shutdown engaged. The console screen agreed with that. She turned around involuntarily to regard the reactor, but still could see no damage on it that would have warranted that action. Her env suit insisted that there was no radiation beside what came in from the outside.

Shrugging, she restored the lever and initiated startup. It came online smoothly. Just as smoothly, the ship came alive. The lights turned up, the room going bright as the instrument panels switched on. A faint vibration under her feet told her that the engine had woken up.

There was a brief, vague broadcast of a sensation not unlike standing against a steady stream of water, and she turned her head, alarmed. But no further comment came, and she decided that the Reaper had just been startled by the kinetic barriers coming up again. If it had trouble, it would say.

She rerouted everything to main power, then started her search of the ship.

The crew quarters looked worse, of course, since there was a lot of stuff there that hadn’t bee secured or stored away in lockers, and there were crew members in their bunks or in their rooms. One in the washroom. A dozen or so in the mess hall, surrounded by a hailstorm of cutlery, dishes, and food frozen into unrecognizable chunks.

The med bay was empty save for the ship's doctor, who apparently had been at his desk, reading some magazine.

The server room was lit by flickering lights, and when she looked closer, she determined that the VI was still offline. She was no expert, but it looked as if it had been almost completely wiped.

She found a group of eleven in one of the storage rooms, three females, five males. Three small children, close together. She bared her teeth. None of them wore the uniforms the crew did, but it wasn't difficult to explain what this was, either. All over the galaxy there were still people desperate to get home, or at least to wherever their surviving relatives were. This was a freighter, and they weren't supposed to take passengers, but as times were, if there was no trouble, no one would question too closely. She felt sick. You thought you were going home, she thought.

“Damn," she said aloud. She regarded one of the children more closely, and it took her a few seconds to figure out what had struck her as odd. It was as dead as the adults, of course, but while it was curled up, it didn't seem as contorted as the adults were. It looked far from peaceful, but the pose suggested something else than the permanent nightmare the adults seemed to have experienced. The angle of its head didn’t quite seem right. She checked the other two and found them the same, their necks snapped.

She shook her head, then left the room, letting the door slide shut behind her.

The bridge was the last, and the situation there was much the same. The bridge crew were dead at or close to their stations in the same horrible way that the rest of the crew were.

She checked what she could find of the ship's flight plan and logs, but found nothing out of the ordinary. The ship itself was flightworthy. She was unable to check for herself, because the freighter's three huge cargo bays were cold storage and by default accessible only from the outside, but the cargo seemed undisturbed. Since it was loaded in cold storage, the shutdown would have made no difference to its state. The ambient radiation might have, but the ship's hard shielding was still intact. By all reckoning, it should have been still useable.

"It makes no sense," she said aloud, then winced at the sound of her own voice. "It looks like it got to all of them at the same time, with no warning." The Marauder watched her, mutely, as she thought aloud. "It might have been some sort of toxin, something someone brought aboard. But if so, it must have gotten past the biofilters and spread incredibly fast." Of course, with everyone now sporting cybernetic parts, all bets were off as to what new diseases would turn up that targeted those specific systems. But it still made no sense. Even if it had been some effect on living organisms unknown until now, it didn't explain why the ship's VI was destroyed, and why the engineer down at the reactor had shut the power down. 

She shook her head again. Someone else would have to find out what had really happened here. Her job was to determine the ship's state, and report back.

Experimentally, she went over to nav and checked the system. It was fully online, and from what she could see the engines were fully operational.

If they wanted to, they could just fly the freighter home. She thought about it, then went over to comm, and, after some fiddling with more unfamiliar controls, managed to open a channel back to Laeth.

The station commander's face came up on the screen, slightly distorted by static. "What have you found?" she asked without any preamble.

Varinnia was fine with keeping it to the point. "All the crew are dead, I can't tell of what. The ship and cargo appear to be intact. What do you want me to do?"

"If it is possible at all, bring it back," the commander replied without any hesitation. "We will put up quarantaine for it as per standard procedure until we figure out what killed its crew, but we need its cargo."

"All right." She suppressed a sigh. She knew the commander was right about the freighter's cargo being needed, but she wasn't looking forward to spending almost a week on a ship manned only by the dead.

"Laeth out" the commander said without any further greeting, and the channel went dead.

She now allowed herself that sigh.

"Well, you heard her," she said into the general direction of the Marauder. "Looks like I'll be flying this thing home, after all."

A wordless question, probably about her lack of enthusiasm.

"Maybe it doesn't bother you, but I for one don't want to stay on a bridge surrounded by dead salarians for the next few days."

The Marauder cocked his head to one side, then went over to the nav terminal. She half expected it to take her complaint literal and start clearing the bridge of dead bodies, but instead it removed a piece of plating from the terminal, did something to one of the ports, then pressed its hand against the panel.

She nodded in sudden understanding. "You can do an uplink?"

_< Affirmation>_

That would make things considerably easier. She - or the Reaper - could control the freighter remotely. "Thanks," she said. "That's better."

 

 

 

Varinnia could say for certain that she never had been that glad to get back onboard of the Reaper. She took extra care in staying for decontamination in the airlock, and left her env suit stored away with another cleaning cycle programmed, then went up to the bridge to test the uplink.

 She was vaguely amused to find that she was better at controlling the freighter than the Reaper was.

_< Movement of a large mass through water almost frozen solid, the crystallising water resisting. Slow. Tedious.>_

She involuntarily grinned. "You forgot 'inefficient'."

It didn't deign to reply.

She knew that the way back would take them considerably longer, because whatever shortcuts the Reaper could find for itself apparently weren’t applicable to another ship.

It was difficult to believe, but she actually looked forward to get back to Laeth again. Anything to get rid of that dead ship. Get it to the station, then have a few drinks with the head of engineering or some of the other pilots to forget about how disturbing this freighter had been. She couldn't quite get the memory of the dead crew out of her mind, or the mystery it posed, and suspected that it would remain that way for some time to come.

 


	7. downtime

 

 

 

_downtime_

 

 

Laeth was on its night-time cycle. Elsewhere on the station, shops and facilities would be closed, the public areas would be all but deserted. The docks, however, were only calmer than usual, with less personnel moving around.

She was glad for the relative quiet. That last run had been taxing in every regard, and Varinna fully intended to hit her quarters, sleep and not think about the general stupidity of this galaxy's inhabitants for a while.

At least that had been the plan until she spotted Lanril sitting idly at a huge stack of colour-coded crates. The head of engineering was in his usual coveralls that showed no rank insignia, and there was something appealing about his calm, relaxed pose. His bad leg was stretched out comfortably, the other one drawn up. He waved a hand in greeting, and she made a beeline for him. Only then she noted that he wasn't alone.

One of the other pilots, a middle-aged female in bold white Kelaman markings and a rather scruffy Laeth transport uniform sat on the stack of crates, her pose just as relaxed. Varinna searched her mind frantically for a moment, then came up with a name. Navris. One of the unaffiliated, a volunteer like herself. She nodded to them both in greeting, unsure of her welcome, but Lanril shuffled aside, making room for her. An open bag containing some of the sweets she knew he was fond of was on the ground next to his ankle, but she saw no bottles. Unusual.

"What happened, did the bar turn you out?" she asked by way of greeting.

Navris laughed. "No, but I'm heading out as soon as his team" she indicated Lanril with a graceful nod "finishes tuning my nav." She winked. "My ship doesn't fly itself, so I can't fly blind. Or drunk."

Varinnia flicked one mandible. "Oh? Does that mean you want to swap?"

"Hell, no," Navris laughed. "I don't want a ship that talks back at me. I even muted my VI."

"Sure. You can't take anyone contradicting you." Lanril ducked his head as she playfully swatted at him.

Varinnia raised an eye ridge at the easy, casual interaction. She didn't miss that Navris' claws grazed along the side of his fringe, a bit too slow. Well, good for them. She settled herself in and leaned back against a crate with a sigh.

"So. Rough one?" Lanril asked.

Varinnia shrugged and stole a couple of brightly-coloured tidbits from his bag. Navris, who was perched on the crate he was leaning against, reached down and snatched a handful of her own, depleting his stash considerably. He took the open theft with dignity.

"Stupid. Just stupid." She sighed. "They didn't let us dock. Said that they'd not want any help from 'one of those monsters'." She lowered her head, then tossed the bright cube into her mouth, bit down angrily on the sweetness. "People are dying there. What does it matter if it's a former enemy who transports the supplies they need?"

"Pride." Lanril shrugged solemnly and took a piece of candy for himself. "Sometimes that's all people have left."

Varinnia snorted. "They'd rather let their mates and offspring die." She managed to keep the snarl out of her voice, barely. "Aliens. Stupid." Another morsel found its way between her teeth. The crunch was mildly satisfying. "There is an automated mining facility on one of the moons close to them. Loading equipment, storage. We left their supplies there, and let me tell you the unloading was enough of a pain." Unloading the Reaper's cold store holds had been difficult, with just the Marauder for help, even if they had cranes and a mech. "We told them where to find their shipment, then left. I hope for their sakes that they have a few shuttles left." She snarled again. "Damn them. There were children on that station. I don't care how stupid their parents are, they have done nothing to deserve this."

"I'd have turned my ship and left," Navris huffed. "If they don't want help, fine."

"Not everyone's as practical as you," Lanril replied placidly. He threw a lazy look in the direction of the docks, where the Reaper was sitting in its customary spot. "What did your ship say?"

He still called the Reaper 'her ship', and she had stopped even trying to correct him. What was the use. "It hasn't said anything on the subject. Probably thinks we are all damned fools."

Navris snorted. "It might be right."

"It's not just humans, you know." Lanril's expression was calm as ever. "Adenia has split from the Hierarchy."

"What?" Her jaw dropped.

"You really are not watching the news much, are you." There was faint amusement in his eyes at her huff. "They declared their independence, and established their sector as closed off to Reapers, and any of their tech."

She swallowed. "Have they gone insane?"

Lanril shrugged. "A few others are making similar noises, too." He appropriated his bag of candy again. "It's a good opportunity. The public sentiment about Reapers is just an excuse, I think. There has to be more to it. But the Hierarchy won't risk a civil war, so they will get away with it. For the time being, at least."

"But how do they expect to exist, on their own? They are hardly a self-sufficient colony."

"They'll probably make some alliances of their own. And who knows, others may follow their example."

"It's a strange galaxy, and strange times," Navris stated. "Odd alliances all over the place. Did you hear about that Reaper on Rannoch?"

Varinnia shook her head, and Lanril clicked his mandibles. "What Reaper?"

"One of the big ones, I haven't heard anyone call it by a common name. I heard the geth have this really big mainframe there, deep underground, and it got damaged during the war, and it was failing. They couldn't repair it. That Reaper dug itself in, sealed up the way behind it and somehow linked itself up with it."

"It's repairing the mainframe?" Lanril asked.

"No." Navris shook her head. "It has become the mainframe, or part of it."

There was silence for a moment, as each of them tried to imagine it.

"And the geth are fine with that?" Varinnia finally asked, doubtful. "Or the quarians, for that matter?" 

"Don't know about the quarians, but since they are already having geth instances running on their own damned suits - and implanted hardware, as rumour has it - they'll probably tolerate it. But I heard the geth are happy about it." She grimaced. "They say there are entire worlds in there, whatever that means."

"Crazy galaxy," Lanril said, in a tone that wasn't entirely disapproving.

"Right."

There was another silence, but it was a comfortable one.

"Why do they do that, do you think?" Navris asked suddenly. "The Reapers, teaming up with some organic or another. It's not like they really need a pilot."

Varinnia thought about just shrugging, but Lanril looked at her too, interest in his eyes. "I don't know, " she said finally. "I tried to ask it, but I don't quite understand its answer." She hated admitting that. "I think that they are simply not used to being on their own. They were linked to each other and to some central AI."

"So. They are lonely, is that it?"

She snorted. "Machines can't be lonely."

"I don't see why not." Lanril snagged another piece of candy. "They can be embarrassed, at least. That's an emotion, too."

She lifted her head, interested despite herself. "What did you say to embarrass it?"

"Not your ship. Yours is sensible, even if it’s hard to understand.” He smiled. “I meant another Reaper that docked here briefly a few weeks back, to pick up crew and supplies for a repair mission of some relay. There's a lot of that still going on, I'm told, mostly because the active relays were damaged more severely than those that were shut down. So many of the important relays still have trouble. In any case, that Reaper was more talkative than yours, and a lot more convinced of its own superiority. Unpleasantly so." He chuckled. "It had a very arrogant asari matron with it, and I think the two of them are well matched."

Navris laughed. "And what did you say to insult it?"

He shook his head. "I didn't insult it. I asked it what the reasoning behind all of them fighting in battles was." He shrugged. "Their excuse was that they somehow preserved organics, or at least their knowledge, in their forms. Doesn't sound like much preserving to me if you send your data storage into battle without having at least a backup."

Varinnia envied him for that sober view. "What did it say?"

"Something about cascading errors in the base setup. I think it meant the programming of their central AI."

"A pitiful excuse." Navris suddenly sat up, alert as her omnitool chimed. "Ah. That's my cue." She swung down from the crates, sliding a hand over Lanril's shoulder in passing. "See you, Lanril. Varinnia."

"Safe travel, " Varinnia replied, politely, watching her take off in the general direction of the bay where her ship was parked.

Lanril gave a deep, rather happy hum, which was all the answer to anything Varinnia could have remarked. She left it at that. His personal life was none of her business, after all.

"What else is happening on the station and in the galaxy that I haven't heard about yet?" she asked, less because she was interested in gossip, or even really knew many people on the station, and more because the sound of his voice was somehow relaxing. Maybe that was just because there were not many other people who were not automatically distrustful or resenting or judging her for flying with the Reaper.

She leaned back, listening to him launching into a detailed description of a vermin problem involving the station and an alien animal species called gizka that soon had her laugh despite herself. Maybe it was the silly story, or just his company, but she was feeling better already.

 

 

 


	8. memorials

 

 

_memorials_

 

 

They came out of the jump at a secondary relay that Varinna had never visited before. It was in a distant orbit around a lone blue sun that had no accompanying planets. To her knowledge, no one had bothered finding a common name for it; it's standardised designation was Relay 179.

There was a noticeable change in the balance of the ship, as if it had decelerated suddenly, and that was unusual enough to make her look at the screens in sudden alarm.

Pieces of debris were drifting by them, and it took her a moment to realise that they had come out right in the middle of a battlefield. All around the relay, there were pieces of what had once been battleships. From what she could see of the larger pieces, it had been a mixed fleet, asari mostly, a few human ships, some oddly curved hull pieces that didn't seem familiar. She believed she recognised the clean, angular lines of a turian frigate in a piece of fuselage that hung close to the relay.

The reminders of a stand against the Reapers that had failed, she thought, with a pang of sadness. She didn't want to do the math and estimate how many ships had met their ends here. Those reminders were still everywhere, but this one brought the sense of time home in a particular painful way.

This hadn't been that long ago. They had fought bravely, and fallen.

In none of the pieces did she see the distinct metallic black that would have been remains of a Reaper ship.

She listened for any reaction of the Reaper, but it just remained still, maybe scanning the debris field. Sometimes she got impressions or emotions from it, but it didn't seem to have any comments on this. Well, maybe it was right. What was there to say? Except, perhaps, never again.

Relay 179 was operational, which she noted with relief, because she had no desire to be stuck in the middle of that a graveyard while the Reaper tried to get the relay functioning again. Maybe someone else had been here before them who had restored the relay, or maybe it hadn't suffered damage in the first place and just had come up operational again after some time on its own, just like in an extended reboot and functional check. The workings of the relays and what had happened to them at the end of the war were still a mystery to most. If the Reapers knew more, they were not telling much.

The Reaper started to move again, changing course to the relay itself. But the angle of approach was wrong for a jump, and it was far too slow.

It passed the relay very close, close enough that she almost braced for impact as she wondered whether it was trying to brush its legs against the large structure. But it just passed it by, went into a turn and did a close flyby on the relay's other side.

"What are you doing?"

_< Curiosity.>_

The relay filled the screens, and to her surprise she saw and felt the Reaper's legs extend as it clearly approached the relay to land on its surface.

She drew breath to ask, but her question was answered as they were close enough to actually make contact. The structure directly ahead, although of the same dark metal that the relay was made from, wasn't part of the relay, after all. It was tiny against the huge relay, and anchored close to it as it was, nearly invisible, but there was no mistaking what it was. Neither was there any doubt about its state.

There was a Reaper wreck there, after all. She regarded the dark pathways of its hull, the gaping hole that was where most of the curved hull plating of its 'back' should have been.

There were slight differences, but it looked close enough to the Reaper she was standing in that she involuntarily shuddered. "I see. Do you want to examine it?"

_< Affirmation.>_

She thought for a moment, then asked. "Is it someone you know?" She felt foolish after speaking the words. It was a machine. They didn't have friends.

The Reaper didn't seem to think the question strange. _< An image of this Reaper, whole and undamaged, pathways gleaming a frightening blue, sitting on a large, complex structure, wrestling some large piece of metal into place with its forelegs. A complex symbol that was untranslatable, but was most likely some identification mark>_ There was no sadness that she could detect, but she caught something like unease.

She felt the same unease as it anchored itself to the relay, very close to the dead Reaper.

"Do you want to board it?"

_< Affirmation>_

"Right. I think I'll come along." Maybe she shouldn't be, but she had to admit that she was curious, about what the Reaper was trying to do, about what the other Reaper looked like. 

It didn't reply, so she took that as consent. She wasted no time getting down to the airlock and into her suit.

The Marauder waited at the airlock, placidly. She made sure the gravpads of her boots were engaged, then she followed it.

 

 

  

The Marauder led the way into the wrecked Reaper. Unlike her, the lack of gravity and the darkness didn't bother it. Up close, the damage was much worse than it had looked like from the outside. The airlock had been ripped open, so the access was clear.

The lower levels were, as far as she could tell, more or less intact. There wasn't much in the way of interior, and not much light except the flashlight of her suit to see by, but Varinnia had the feeling that this Reaper had been a lot less customised than what she was used to. What she could see was bare, featureless bulkheads and corridors. She didn't believe that this one ever had carried a living crew.

They checked its main storage, on the lowest deck, briefly.

This was more like what she had imagined. The room was full of husks, different forms, all of them lifeless, stacked and secured in minimalistic racks that ran the full height of the room. She shuddered, and despite everything, she had no desire to examine this cargo any further. Her skin crawled, and her instincts told her to run, even if her mind knew that in this state they were harmless.

The Marauder merely examined the rack closest to it briefly, a stack of inert Marauders, indistinguishable from itself. It ran a claw over a smooth, featureless metal beam that made up the left side of the rack. Embedded in the metal, green structures flickered to life briefly, then died away again as it took its claw away.

Something struck her as strange at that image, but the thought was squashed by pure relief as the Marauder seemingly lost interest and turned away. She was glad to leave the silent rows of husks behind.

The basic layout of the other Reaper was much the same, so it wasn't difficult to recognise the accessway that led up to where its core was located.

Or rather, would have been located. There were still pieces left of the fortification that would have been around this one's core, and the deck of that floor was still there. But what must have been a room filled with alien machinery now was just empty with some leftover floating rubble, and when she turned her head upwards, she could see the rest of the structure was missing, all the levels up to the hull. The beam of her flashlight showed nothing but torn metal and the black of space behind.

She again felt something she could only interpret as unease from the Reaper, but it again didn't share more of its thoughts.

There was nothing left of this Reaper's core, and she felt a vague relief at that. If there had been, then it would only have been logical for the Reaper to either try and restore the other one, or maybe at least recover what was possible of its data stores. She wasn't sure she would have been comfortable with either. A Reaper damaged and deactivated in battle might hold a grudge on reactivation, and as for the Reaper she at least now had gotten used to accessing another one's data stores...there was no telling how that might change its view on things. It hadn't shown any signs of resentment for organics so far, and the worst she could accuse it of was, on the large, a certain indifference towards organics in general.

No, she told herself. It was better this way.

The Marauder took a careful step onto the heap of rubble, but stopped. It turned its head upwards, scanning the destroyed decks.

Varinnia followed its gaze. It seemed interested in the level just above them. As for her, she wasn't sure what it was looking for, but she found herself more and more curious about what precisely had taken this Reaper out. Without waiting for what the Marauder might do, she found a spot directly under the ripped overhead, disengaged the gravpads for a moment, then pushed herself briskly upwards. She grabbed the metal edge, then got her feet under herself and attached herself to the deck again.

She stayed crouched down, examining the jagged edges of the deck. They showed a distinct bend downwards.

There was a familiar impulse from the Reaper, one that she knew well by now. It was a wordless request, something she translated for herself as 'let me see?'. She nodded, although it probably couldn't see that, and felt that indistinct pull as the comlink expanded the range to let it patch into her perception.

She examined the edge, then looked upwards to regard the corresponding damage overhead. The edges there were bent upwards.

"Looks like something on its bridge exploded." She paused. "If it had a bridge."

 _< Confusion._ _A very real trace of sadness, brief but unmistakable. >_

So, she had been wrong, it could feel sadness after all. She automatically winced as she felt the connection fade again as her perception again was only her own. It felt like it was done with whatever it had wanted to see. 

That was more than fine with her. The store room with the inert husks had been disturbing, but there was some feel to this to this place that was less easily defined. It couldn't be pity, certainly, because this Reaper had brought its fate upon itself by attacking the fleet outside in the first place. It didn't deserve any sympathy. But still, she could feel no triumph at its demise either. It was just a waste, all around. Her curiosity about what another Reaper looked like was satisfied. She was ready to go back.

She got herself down to the core level again, then looked at the Marauder for a clue of whether there was anything else it wanted to try. But it already was turning away, and she wasted no time in following it.

 

 

 

Only when they were back aboard already, and she was on her way up to the bridge did she remember. "Oh. Is there...anything you want to retrieve from that wreck?" Maybe there were some parts that were still useful, that it could use for itself. Maybe - and she didn't like that thought - it would remember that it carried only a single Marauder and at least pick up a few more husks to use as platforms. It would make sense. It was a machine, after all. It wouldn't know any sentimentality. If stripping a nonfunctional Reaper for parts or taking some of its equipment was more efficient than picking up those parts from a dry dock or depot somewhere else, then she couldn't imagine it not doing so. 

Its reply was vague, and faint as if it was distracted, but the overall feel was a negation.

There was nothing that it wanted, then. She did breathe a sigh of relief at that.

She had barely settled in her chair when she felt the very faint shift throughout the hull that meant it was lifting itself off. But she could see on the screens that its legs were still extended, not folded up into its flight configuration. Instead, she saw it reaching closer to the wreck, legs hooking into the broken hull.

There was no sound of strained metal, no indication of actual force applied, but it still somehow detached the wreck from the relay. It lifted off, away from the relay, taking the wreck with it as the relay fell away under them. The angle of the main view shifted towards the sun as the Reaper changed course. Its legs released the wreck, and the view shifted again as it went into a wide turn that would take them towards the relay again, at the proper angle for a jump, this time.

She blinked. It wasn't hard to tell that the wreck's trajectory would send it directly into the sun, but the reason for that eluded her. It couldn't be worried about anyone studying it to figure out its tech. There wasn't enough left of it for that, and besides, if it was concerned about that, there had to be better, less damaged specimens around for study, especially around the core worlds where the fighting had been most concentrated. But maybe it was just a matter of procedure.

She again caught a hint of sadness from it, but it was cut off abruptly, as if it hadn't meant to share that. She ground her teeth, feeling foolish for doing so, but still spoke. "It's all right. For what it's worth, I'm sorry." She really was, if only for the missed chances and wasted lives.

Its only reply was an image of the relay, its rings spinning around the glowing core. 

She could tell by her instruments that it was picking up speed already for the jump as it approached the relay.

That was clear enough. It didn't want to talk about it, and it wanted to be gone. She nodded. "You're right. Let's get going."

 

 


	9. stations

 

 

_stations_

 

 

The music in the small bar at the spaceport on Caerulia was loud, obnoxious, but at least the drinks were palatable. Varinna took another sip from the blue liquid and regarded her surroundings idly. The crowd was the usual mix of regular residents and still-stranded soldiers and fugitives. She counted representatives of all major species.

The general mood was still a tense one, but at least things here seemed more on the quiet side. So far it wasn't like what she had heard of the situation on the more densely populated worlds. Not everyone had resigned themselves to the changes brought onto them. Nor was everyone fine with the Reapers still being alive, regardless of the role they were playing now in the rebuild efforts. With grief and loss and most of the known part of the galaxy still in ruins, it had been inevitable that there would be some who thought the current peace was not enough. Some were more vocal than others. Some were not opposed to taking up arms again.

It wasn't that she couldn't understand their reasons. But she still firmly believed that there had been enough blood shed to last all of them for a long time to come. Forgiveness was a bit much to ask, but for the moment it was more important to focus on continued survival and rebuilding than taking revenge.

There were others that tried to be reasonable. And still many more that embraced the change that the cybernetics brought. It was also inevitable that those groups would clash at some point.

At least so far no one had managed to directly harm a Reaper or provoke one into a defensive reaction. She didn't want to know what the results of that would be.

She snorted, toying with her glass for a moment, then downed the content in one go. The last few runs she had made had been long and strenuous, and the very last one had been also depressing as hell, a station where they had found no survivors at all. She didn't know what had happened there, whether one single person had snapped and killed the rest, or whether they had all at some point given in to despair and taken that way out. There had been no records, just bodies, and chances were that they would never know the full story. But she was feeling very tired of it all.

This wasn't going according to plan at all. This time, they weren't needed back at Laeth as soon as possible, so she had already scheduled a few days off to spend on the station. She needed some downtime.

She had thought that she wanted a change of scene, some noise and life around her, maybe some company if the opportunity came up. But there were too many alien voices, too many garbled conversations that were spoken half aloud and half through links that she still tried to ignore. Even the voices of those of her own kind grated on her nerves, somehow.

She hadn't heard a single signal from the Reaper since they had landed. It sat in dock, deceptively docile and inert like any normal ship, the presence that it normally projected contained and shut down. It had neither tried to speak nor share its thoughts, just as always when they were stationside or planetside. It just was there, quiet, patient, presumably just waiting.

It never tried to hurry her or urge her to get back into space. Then again, there was no need for it to. Whatever it was that she had longed for, this place had nothing she needed or wanted. It was time to move on.

Her mood dropped even further, she pushed away from the table and headed for the exit.

"Leaving already?" The resonating, full voice made her turn her head despite herself.

A turian man in a rather fetching outfit of red, black and electric blue was leaning casually against the wall beside the door. She noted that he had vivid red markings on a dark face, the basic design saying Anvaris, but the specific details were nothing she could place. The contrast was quite stunning, though, and for a moment she wondered what his eye colour had been before the change. His mandibles were set into a faint smile as he watched her. There was a nice curve to his fringe, and a pleasing symmetry to his features.

A bit young, but not bad, she thought, interested despite herself. Her second thought was, he didn't belong here.

"Alavus Naveris." He paused, giving her another once-over. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"Varinnia," she offered. "I'm just passing through."

 "Lucky you." For a moment, there was a bitter undertone in his voice, and it gave her pause again. True, she had come here for distraction, not to add to her own problems, but it was hard not to respond to that tone. Maybe this would be enough distraction.

"What's your story, Alavus?"

He clicked his mandibles, then gave a laugh. "If I am going to bore you with that, the least I should do is get you another drink."

She didn't have to think about that. "Sounds good to me."

With another laugh, he ducked away, and she watched him brave the crowd and make his way to the bar. 

He returned, lifting an unmarked bottle in one hand and two disposable glasses in the other. He smiled at her, then looked around the bar dubiously. "Do you want to find someplace quieter?"

Varinnia didn't quite smile. "Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

He nodded. "Come on."

 

 

 

With some amusement, Varinnia considered that her second thought about her newfound companion had been correct. He really didn't belong on Caerulia.

When thinking about a place to go, he hadn't suggested his place, or some hotel room, despite the fact that he honestly seemed delighted to have company. She would have been ready to bet that the same offer from at least most of the men or women in that bar, once accepted, would have resulted in a memorable night, slashed sheets and a more or less amicable parting in the morning.

Instead, they were sitting high up in one of the station's currently inactive comm spires, in a mostly empty room with viewports to all sides. Technically, it was a restricted area, but no one would really care about that. It was a surprisingly nice place to hold a conversation, even if it was cold. They had shared the bottle of spirits that he'd brought, but there was still something left in there.

Alavus’ voice was pleasant, and she was content to let him do most of the talking.

His story wasn't that unusual. He was just one of many left stranded after the fighting had ended. A minor digital artist for an Illium-based entertainment software company, working for the Spera subsidiary as well as living there permanently, he'd been on a field trip two systems away, capturing some specific landscape on Dysine for some new simulation when the first attacks had begun. Regular travel had been interrupted as everyone was scrambling for some safe place to hide, and luck and a sympathetic freighter had dropped him on Caerulia. He at least had some sort of job here, on a team doing general tech support on the station.

It probably would be a while longer until he had a chance to get home again, or at least further into that direction. There were still not many ships going the regular routes, and transport on one of those that came by would be prohibitively expensive.

"Spera, hmm?" She'd never been that far into Hierarchy space. "What is it like?"

He was looking out of the viewport, where the inner station's slow rotation around its longitudinal axis made it look like the docking ring was drifting past them ever so slowly. "Beautiful. The sunlight has just that tint of warm yellow, you know? I live in a small seaside city there. It's a quiet and calm place. You'd like it." There was longing in his voice. "I miss it, the scent of the sea, and the colours of the water and the sunlight on the waves. I have been away too often and too long as is."

She studied his profile, while he looked out at the docked ships, oblivious to her scrutiny. No, she thought again. You really don't belong out here. "Do you have family there?"

He nodded, quickly, but didn't go into more detail. He suddenly craned his neck. "What the hell?"

She threw a look past him. "What is it?"

He pointed. "What is that thing?"

She flicked a mandible in a wry smile. "A Reaper."

"Really?" Alavus studied the dark shape of the Reaper with open interest. "I've never really seen one before, save on the news. I thought they were larger."

"There are several designs," she offered by way of explanation, feeling vaguely amused as he gave a growl of frustration and patted his pockets.

"What?"

"Nothing." He relaxed his shoulders, looking faintly embarrassed. "I don't have a sketchbook with me."

Varinnia blinked. "You want to draw it?"

"A curious design, isn't it? But strangely graceful. I wonder what it is doing there."

She shrugged. "Resting, probably." If she thought about it, it certainly looked inactive, the green lines on its hull dimmed down to almost darkness. "You are not afraid of it?"

He seemed surprised by the question. "It doesn't look aggressive to me, or anything, really. It's just...there. Present." He gave it another long look. "Strange. I wonder whether it talks. 

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Well, that reaction certainly was a new one.

She stretched her back with a yawn, then activated the comlink.

_Are you awake?_

A stream of symbols, incomprehensible, so she gave up.

_Do you know a world called Spera?_

_< A clear image of a world with oceans broken by many smaller land masses. Zoom out to show a representation of the system, a huge yellow sun in the center. Spera was the fourth planet of fourteen, one of them with a characteristic, skewed orbit.>_

_Would you mind taking a detour there and taking a passenger?_

She felt distinct surprise from it for a beat, but then it answered with an image of one of the smaller cabins that would have been crew quarters in a real ship. 

_Thank you. I'll tell him._

_< An image of the Reaper itself, anchored in the docking bay with magnetic clamps it didn't need. It extended one leg and tapped it against the one opposite it, just where the clamp sat. Then it folded its leg away again. Impatience. Waiting.>_

She almost laughed. It wanted to be gone again, just as much as she had just a few hours ago.

_I agree, but he'll at least need some time to pack._

 

 

Alavus was getting to his feet, stretching as well. "Well. As much as I hate to cut this short, I need to go. I'm scheduled for morning shift."

"I'm leaving in a few hours. Do you want a lift?"

His mandibles dropped. "What? Where to?"

She shrugged. "I think we can manage to get you home."

He gave a strangled sound. "Are you serious?"

"Well, technically I'm not supposed to take passengers, but I doubt anyone will complain."

"You have your own ship?"

She considered the question. "I don't think that the question of actual ownership can be answered that easily. But I already checked with my associate. You can come if you like."

He was confused enough not to ask how she had checked. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Get what you want to bring, meet us in docking bay 23-Blue."

His face lit up in a broad grin, disbelief turning to joy. He turned, then hesitated. "About what to pack- how much weight-"

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Bring whatever you want to. I'm sure we'll find room."

She watched him hurry off, shook her head again, amused, then turned herself back towards the docks at a much more sedate pace.

 

  

His expression when he saw what ship was docked in that bay, she thought with a certain satisfaction, certainly made up for all the trouble she was going to get into when Imvaris found out that she had taken on a passenger against her explicit orders. She decided then and there that it was worth it.

"You are joking," he said, the tone almost awed.

It would have been too hard to remain unmoved by his stunned face, so she didn't even try and allowed herself an amused twitch of mandibles. "No. But you can still back out if you-"

"I'd sit in the cargo hold of an ore freighter if it'd get me home," he interrupted, looking past her as his expression turned to fascination. "I always wondered what they are like."

"Well," she said, with the smile still on her face, much as she tried to dislodge it, "there's your chance to find out for yourself."

There was not much apprehension in his pose or face as he boarded the Reaper, and she wasn't sure whether to admire his courage or shake her head at this apparent lack of survival instinct.

 

 

 

Varinnia gave him a quick tour of the Reaper, then left him in the cabin it had suggested to unpack and get his bearings and made her way back to the bridge.

Passenger or not, she was not going to miss their takeoff. On the screens, she could see the Reaper easing itself away from the station, and even if it didn't communicate anything in particular, she still could feel the anticipation it felt to be free of the station.

She echoed that notion wholeheartedly. She had been feeling restless down there, searching for something she hadn't been able to define nor find. It didn't matter. They would be back in free flight again soon, and she was looking forward to that. The station had been restricting, full of too many people with too many thoughts that were too loud. This was better.

She calculated a course, and for once it didn't optimise her suggestion, although it reduced her estimated travel time drastically. "Not quite three weeks," she murmured, half amused, half exasperated. "Are you sure?"

It had recently learned not to take questions like that literally, but she felt a flash of vague contentment from it.

"You really don't mind another person onboard for a while?" The thought had crossed her mind a few times by now.

 _< Acceptance. Curiosity>_ it replied.

She wasn't sure what it was curious about, but when she tried to ask, the reply was just so many overlapping images of her, the ship and Alavus that she gave up on trying. She felt certain she'd find out the answer to that eventually.

 

 

 

A considerable time later, she decided to at least check in on Alavus. She tapped at the door to his cabin, and waited a few seconds for him to open the door.

"Hey, " he said. There was a smile on his face. "I already tried to tell you to come in. But you don't talk via link, do you? At all?"

"No," she replied, and something in her tone made him blink briefly, then shrug.

"It just looks so normal on the inside." There was wonder still in his tone. "If I didn't know better, I couldn't tell."

She looked around the cabin briefly. He'd taken the time to unpack, put up some decorative cloth hangings on the walls. The colourful patterns made the room look inviting, friendly. Wall hangings as decoration in ships were a common and widespread custom, but she rarely had seen anyone do it in temporary quarters.

One of the hangings managed to catch her attention, an abstract pattern rendered in flowing thin lines. The style didn't mean anything to her, but the colours had their own language, one that she understood. It made her pause for a moment and trace a claw over a spiral pattern before she caught herself. "Very pretty," she said.

"This one was made by a friend of mine." For a moment, there was a darker tone in his voice. "We worked together on Dysine. He wasn't as lucky. He left on another transport, heading straight back towards Spera. His ship never arrived there."

"I'm sorry." Her reply was automatic, her eyes and mind still on the intricate pattern.

He gave a noncommittal sound, momentary sadness, replaced immediately by resolved optimism. "Everyone lost someone. Nothing to be done about it except to look ahead and continue on."

In principle, she agreed with that, but she knew it was rarely that simple. She just nodded, tracing the spiral pattern again. "That sounds reasonable."

"I will see home again soon," he said, simply, and there was no mistaking the happiness in his undertones. "I have dreamed about that for far too long. Thank you for that chance." His undertones were open, unguarded, happiness and gratitude and joy weaving in there, and that was unusual, too. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard anyone let that much raw emotion show in their voices.

She shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with the thanks, still studying the cloth. "It's not just me, and you're welcome."

He laughed, genuine amusement in the tone. "What about you? What do you dream of? What does make you happy?"

Varinnia snorted. "I don't have much time for dreams."

He breathed a sound of polite disagreement, and she drew breath to clarify, but she forgot about it as he brushed his hand casually against her side. She turned around, more startled than anything else, and met his calm expression, and a silent question there.

Subtle, she thought, getting over her surprise. He played this game by much more polite rules than she was used to, these days, but she remembered just enough. If she just stepped back, it wouldn't be brought up again.

There was no reason to refuse. She had considered him attractive at first glance, and what she had seen of him so far had reinforced that impression. "Anyone waiting for you at home?" she asked, her voice not completely calm. That was blunt, but it wasn't idle curiosity. Spacers tended to be more matter-of-fact, more practical, but he was colony-born, as his manners showed, and she didn't want any misunderstandings.

"No one I have made any promises to," he replied, the smile back on his face as his hand slid lower down to her waist and settled there.

"Good." Her breath hitched, and she closed her eyes as he touched his mouth to the side of her neck. Too long, she thought. It had definitely been too long. She ran her fingers over the side of his fringe, heard his deep growl in response.

Clothes were in the way, but easily and quickly removed, and the feel of bare plates against hers was welcome, right. Heat flushed through her body, made her tense into his embrace.

But for all the sensation that was running through her body, her mind was quiet, and her own. She didn't know whether he'd even tried to bring up a link, but if so, he hadn't commented on her lack of response. 

But there was something else, something still and large and by now at least somewhat familiar. The Reaper was paying attention, and unlike with people, it was not possible not to hear it. She listened, distractedly, but all she could get from it was something like puzzlement, as if her actions were utterly incomprehensible.

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but settled for a gasp as Alavus drew his hand down her spine, tips of his claws digging into the gaps between her plates, sending pleasant little shocks through her frame. 

The Reaper was still there, querying, in a way she had gotten accustomed to. Maybe she should have brushed it off, but she felt some sympathy for its confusion. A machine, however intelligent, would have a hard time comprehending things like attraction, or desire. If it wanted to know, why not? This wasn't something she'd be ashamed of.

_All right. If you want to listen in, feel free._

There was no reply, whether verbal or in the images that it sometimes used to communicate, but she felt its presence settle somewhere at the edge of her perception. And promptly forgot all about it as Alavus' teeth gripped the side of her neck, hard.

He hadn't earned that right, really, and it had been more of an experiment than a real move to assert control, but it still triggered a snarl and a flash of defiance from her.

He didn't put up a real struggle, and she heard him laugh as she pushed him down, teeth on his collar and hands on his keelbone and waist, pressing down on sensitive points. His growl turned into a rumble of pleasure as he went still, offered his throat in token submission.

Easy. Maybe too easy. But the rules were set now, and instinct and need took over. She straddled him, aligned their bodies. His hands caught on her hips, holding on as he bucked hard, plates loose. Her own loose plates were spread aside as he drove into her with a hard push, just the right way, a knife's edge between pleasure and pain that melted into pure bliss at the first thrust.

It was better not to think, and therefore she did not, abandoning conscious thought to instinct, to bodies moving to their own harsh rhythm. The first small peak happened soon, made her shudder and snarl, urged him on go faster. Sensation built, ramped up. Something registered in the back of her mind, somewhere distant, an almost hesitant touch completely out of sync with the desperate motion of their bodies, almost but not completely drowned out.

He bit at her collar and arched up into her, hard, his voice a splintered growl, but the undertones were clear, a plea more than anything. Now, please, now.

Her talons dug into his shoulders, made him arch again. The intensity became too much, and she couldn't help crying out as the sensation flooded her system. He growled, his talons gripping her waist hard, and their voices merged as pleasure peaked, took them along.

His body trembled and shook under her, as did her own, but for a moment there was something else, as if the deck shook beneath them. Panting, she collapsed bonelessly on top of him. 

He was still shaking, but now it was suppressed laughter, and it took her a few moments to process that. She lifted her head to look at him, and caught mirth in his too-bright eyes.

"That felt like an earthquake." He laughed, breathlessly.

She didn't, a sense of unease somewhere in her spine. Not an earthquake. He had conveniently forgotten that it wasn't a normal ship they were on. She, on the other hand, would never completely forget that fact.

But the Reaper's delicate touch was gone from her perception, and she couldn't say when it had disconnected. Nor could she say what it thought of what it just had witnessed. Its presence was calm but remote. Apparently, its curiosity was satisfied.

She shook her head, then deliberately nuzzled her companion's neck. It made him give a low, pleased purr, and the sound of it made her forget the twinge of unease.

His purr changed from relaxed and content into a note of renewed interest. She twitched her mandibles. That hadn't been her original intention, but maybe he had the right of it. Enjoy it while it lasted.

"Not done yet, are we?"

She refrained from answering verbally, but she let him feel her teeth in a quick nip, and was pleased with his quick intake of breath.

"Fine with me." He reached for her again, and she let herself be lost in the touch.

 

 

 

 

The days had passed quickly, and she had to admit that that trip had been a surprisingly comfortable one. Alavus was good company, in every sense of the word. It had been nice to have someone along to share the ordinary as well as the more special moments with. Conversation over a leisurely shared meal prepared by him in the kitchen that normally remained unused was one of those things. Sitting together on the observation deck, watching the colourful trail of a comet on its path past some unnamed sun was another. She smiled as she remembered how he'd struggled to explain to the Reaper that he wanted a specific sort of recording of that scene because some inspiration had struck and he just had to use that exact view as a backdrop for something he now just had to do. The Reaper had granted his request, and he had been overjoyed at the recording. And very happy to share and extend that joy to her, too, right then and there on the observation deck. It had been an intense experience, just as intense as he always seemed to be. What he felt, he felt completely, and all the world could know for all he cared.

It felt nice, she supposed, to have company along. She had never felt lonely before, and was sure she wasn't feeling lonely now, but she was capable of appreciating the advantages of a fellow traveller. He was easy-going, funny, and more than content to let himself be led. He had adapted well to the Reaper's presence, too, which was no small accomplishment.

 

There might have been a hope she hadn't even admitted to herself, just a half-formed thing. She might have, briefly, considered offering him to stay on for another trip or two.

She knew different when they landed on Spera, when she saw the expression on his face as he watched the - to her eyes quite unspectacular - view of the spaceport outside on the screens of the control room on the lower deck. When they had said their goodbyes, and she had seen the airlock close behind him, she had been glad that she hadn't mentioned the possibility.

He hadn't belonged on Caerulea, but space wasn't where he belonged, either. Regardless of what he might have found here, he was home.

 

 

 

True to plan, they left immediately, without even lingering for some supplies or news. She was glad.

She checked the cabin he had used, just as a precaution, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. The room was bare again, neutral and devoid of any individualisation, save for the one bright splash of colour on the wall.

The fabric of the wall hanging was soft against her fingers as she touched it, the pattern just as intriguing as when she first had seen it. For a few long seconds, she stared at it, wondering, then she decisively took it off and carefully rolled it up.

She dropped it off in her own cabin, storing it away in one of her lockers. It wouldn’t stay there, she told herself. She had more than enough bare walls here. As soon as she found some spare time, she’d decide on a place to hang it.

There was a wordless, imageless impulse from the Reaper.

She understood it nevertheless and shook her head. "No, he won't be back. He's home." She went up to the bridge, dropped into her seat and tried not to sigh. "He's lucky."

It wasn't envy, she told herself. She wouldn't want to stay on Spera for an extended length of time, or any other world, for that matter. But it had to be nice, having a place to return to. And it had been nice to have company, for a while.

She growled, and pushed the thought away. He was made for being planetside. She was not. That was all there was to it.

The Reaper asked again, this time a sequence of symbols that she had learned to interpret as 'why?'

She leaned back in her seat and considered. "I don't know. I think it's something encoded in us. We tend to have a connection to the place where we come from. In some it's stronger than in others, but I think it's there in any of us." She frowned. "You don't have that, do you? Do you remember where you were...made?"

_< An image of a large facility, similar to the drydock she had seen before, but much larger and complex. A dark place that looked remote, orbiting a weak white sun.>_

That probably wouldn't qualify. "I don't think that is anything like it. But don't you have any place that you like, that you feel closer to than others?" She shook her head, feeling foolish. It might have emotions, but that didn't mean that they translated to anything familiar. "Do you even understand that concept?"

It didn't reply, and she tried again. "You must have had some place to return to." Her tone turned acidic. "When you weren't busy destroying civilisations, that is."

It didn't react to her tone. _< Darkness, almost absolute. In that black void, there were Reapers, motionless, hanging suspended with just enough of a safe distance to each other. The lights on their hulls were dim, barely visible. There was no particular order to them that she could see, no grouping by type or size. They were just stored, like tools put away until they were needed again.>_

"No, I don't think so either." She frowned again. "What did you do all that time, anyway?"

The image didn't change. No interaction. No exchange of information, because there was no need to.

She had never thought about it, really, but in a way that made sense. They had had no society as such, no ties linking individuals. They coordinated their work, and they were united in their purpose, but that was it. They wouldn't develop or research anything save what was needed to fulfill their purpose. All that knowledge of the different cultures and species they had collected, supposedly in order to preserve them, and yet there was nothing they had done with that. It was, to her, a very bleak existence.

"Not much of a life, that." she said impulsively.

It didn't answer.

 

 


	10. parallels

 

 

_parallels_

 

 

 

 

It was the first time that Varinnia had come to Shroud station, an old structure close to a relay in the region of space the humans named the Obsidian Waste. By itself, the place wasn't of much importance, but the relay offered a much-needed shortcut back into Citadel core space, so that put it up on the list of priorities.

They were dispatched to haul in a load of equipment and supplies for the team that was working to restore the relay to its normal functionality. Supposedly, central command expected the relay to be online again very shortly. Or else, Varinna thought wryly, they didn't mind them being stuck on a station out of the way for a while.

It would have bothered her more if she hadn't had the faint suspicion that the Reaper would have found a way to travel back quicker than expected anyway.

As they pulled in closer to the station, she felt a prickle at the scales at the back of her neck. There was...something, out there. The relay was dark as they passed it, a lifeless, vaguely menacing shape, unfamiliar with its shimmering core absent and the rings surrounding it unmoving. She threw a glance at the display showing a holographic representation of the station and the other ships attached to it, then hesitated as she caught a signature on the relay. The relay read as dead, but something moved on it. She ran her fingers over the display to enlarge.

The shape clinging to the relay just at the beginning of the curve of the inner radius was familiar enough, and still the distinctive shape of another destroyer-class Reaper came as a mild shock. She was annoyed at herself. She had known that restoring the relays was a joint effort. It was more likely than not that another of them would be here.

"Seems like you'll have company," she said. "Is it someone you know?"

_< Two shapes in flight, close formation, both order and familiarity. A sense of right, quiet contentment in purpose and stability.>_

"I take that as a yes." The prospect of another Reaper wasn't something she really liked, but still she had to smile slightly. "Are you going to help it?"

_< A quick image of two Reapers on the relay, movements synchronised for efficiency.>_

"Right." She shrugged. "Let's drop off our cargo first."

 

 

 

She stayed around the dock while the Reaper was unloaded. From the behaviour of the ground crew here she could tell that they were already used to being around a Reaper, which she thought a definite advantage in this case. She watched the last crates being hauled out of the hold.

_Are you going to join the other Reaper right away?_

It gave a quick impulse of agreement, then a query that she didn't bother to puzzle out, because she could guess the meaning anyway.

_No, I'm staying at the station for now. I'd probably just get in the way._

It sent an impulse that was affirmation, but weaker than normal, as if it was distracted. She assumed it was already talking to the other Reaper.

"I'll get some food and will find you later," she told it.

A wordless but friendly impulse confirmed its agreement.

With a shrug, she turned away to explore the station.

 

 

 

After a rather satisfying meal and a quick walk around Shroud station, Varinnia felt at least obligated to see whether the Reaper was back already.

The docking bay it had been in showed as in use, so she made her way to the docks again, unhurriedly and feeling quite in sync with the universe.

That section of the station was still quite busy, crew, tech personnel and station staff moving about on their own duty. She headed towards the bay where she had disembarked before. A tired-looking human, his uniform proclaiming him to be one of the station's techs, made his way past her, then suddenly stopped and addressed her. "Stay out of there if you aren't ordered otherwise," he warned. "Reaper's docked in there." He grimaced. "They say they’re nearly done with the repairs. I'll be glad to see that thing leave port, the sooner the better." 

She twitched one mandible, then eyed the dock behind him. He wasn't alone with that opinion. It was visible in the way the other workers kept their distance, looked over their shoulders. "They seem to agree with you." she allowed, indicating them with a shake of her head.

The tech narrowed his eyes. "And you don't?" When she didn't reply, he snorted. "Don't tell me you'd even think about flying on that thing." 

She flicked a mandible again, but wasn't sure he could read the irritation. Humans weren't good at body language, if it wasn't their own.

"Oh hell. I'd taken you for one of the Sihlra's Hope's crew. You look too normal, not like the other one. But you came with that second Reaper, didn't you?" He shook his head, more in amazement than resentment. "Why? Why would anyone do that? Why would any sane person even think about it?" Before she had time to answer, he continued. "Is it making you do that? They can mess with people's mind, I heard. " 

She tossed her head back in annoyance. "Of course not. It's doing its part in trying to restore things, as we all are."

"Yeah? I can believe you do that. You're a turian." He sneered. "But a Reaper? What are its reasons?"

She might have doubts herself, at times, but she wasn't going to let any scruffy-looking alien accuse her. "Does it matter?" she snapped. "It's helping and being useful."

"For now. They are up to something, you can be sure of that." He shook his head grimly, then continued on his way.

She stared after him, then swore under her breath. Her good mood had evaporated.

 

 

 

 

The dark-greenish metallic shape in the docking bay was so familiar that she approached it without any hesitation. She was close to its hatch already when she noted the minor differences in the curve of the hull. It was just the slightest bit more streamlined, the glowing channels in the dark metal more narrow. She stopped in her tracks, mandibles flaring, then retreated maybe more hastily than was strictly polite.

Its hull didn't move, but she felt the presence that it had drawn in stir and wake, reach outwards. For a moment, there was nothing else in her perception and her mind than an immense body of water, deep and blue and bottomless, more than deep enough not only to drown in there but to disappear completely, be lost forever. There was sadness there, as deep as the water, and maybe more underneath, but she had absolutely no intention to look for anything more. She just wanted out.

She snarled and clawed through the image, fought her way through it like through real water until she was free of it again in a sharp push through the surface. She found she was breathing hard, and regarded the motionless Reaper, shaken. She didn't know what that had been, and what was worse, she didn't know whether she had freed herself or whether it had just let her go.

"Are you all right?" The voice was full of genuine concern, and quite pleasant. She turned her head to regard the speaker.

He was slender, almost thin, sitting cross-legged on a stack of crates, the pose careless. The brown face with its broad, pointed mandibles and elongated cheek fringe was bare of any markings. The white of his robes and headwrap gave him an ethereal appearance. Headwrap and style of robes said Cabal, which implied biotic, and she felt a momentary uneasiness. She’d never met a turian biotic before, and although she’d heard the rumours about them, it was difficult to match the rumours to the young man in front of her. He didn't exactly look threatening or imposing or even in any way dangerous, but there was something uncanny about him.

She didn't know his name, but she knew what he had to be. 

"It can be overwhelming, if you are not used to it," he continued, sympathy in his tone.

She shook her head to clear it. "It's like an ocean," she said without thinking.

He nodded. "Like the one you are travelling with is like the void of space, with distant stars." He seemed to consider. "It's similar. You can get lost in either."

She shuddered, then pushed the gloomy thought away. "I have no intention of letting that happen." She considered. "Does it have a name?"

There was surprise now in his expression. "That was what it tried to tell you. Didn't you hear?"

She shook her head.

"Its name is Lament."

"That figures," she replied, not quite under her breath. 

"I'm Zekiel, by the way." 

"Varinnia."

She usually didn't feel the need of discussing travelling aboard a Reaper with anyone, but this was a special case. He was basically in the same situation as she was, and therefore could both understand and offer further insight. And there were things she had been wondering about.

So she sat down on one of the crates herself, although she kept a polite distance to him, and looked at him again. It only served to confirm her first impression. Young, a bit on the small side, and there was something haunted about him.

“That image of the sea - was that its way of introducing itself?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He didn't reply immediately. After a few moments, he cautiously said, "You can't really talk to yours, can you? Not via a link."

Her question forgotten, Varinnia glared at him, automatically defensive. "What makes you think that?"

He didn't seem fazed. "If you could, you'd never have mistaken another Reaper for the one you travelling with."

There was no good answer to that, so she kept silent. She watched the other Reaper, half wary, half curious. Its hold was opened how, and a number of figures were moving about it, efficient and tireless. The occasional glint of metal on their bodies and the slightly wrong balance of their bodies gave their nature away even at this distance. Marauders. She should have been used to that form by now, but she still couldn’t suppress a shudder. These were different.

“How did you end up with a Destroyer-class Reaper?” he asked, interest now in his tone.

She kept watching the Marauders out of the corner of her eye.

"They attacked the colony I was on. Chesed. You probably won't have heard of it, it's quite out of the way of anything important. When that green wave came and made them stop fighting - " she shuddered. "The others stayed around a while, tried to help with the worst damage. Then they left. One stayed." She didn't mention how that one lone Marauder had followed her around for weeks. "It offered a way offworld. I accepted." That wasn't explanation enough by far, but it was all she had to say on the subject.

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him. Maybe it did. "Sounds familiar. I thought it was going to kill us. Instead it talked." He turned his head to look at her. "Did you live on Chesed?"

The absurdity of that startled her into a laugh. "Spirits, no. I had my own ship until the Reapers blew it up." She was over that insult, almost. "Where are you from?"

"Oma Ker." There was a bitter undertone in his voice.

Varinnia twitched her mandibles uncomfortably. Several colonies had split from the Hierarchy lately, but Oma Ker had been among the first. The official reason they gave was that they resented the cooperation the Hierarchy had entered into with the Reapers. No Reapers or any specimens of their tech were allowed in that sector, and there were ships patrolling the border of that expanse of space to make sure this restriction was enforced, if need be. When she had heard that, she had vaguely wondered what they would do if some Reaper took it into its head to enter that region of space anyway, but so far, none had.

It was explanation enough, of course. "I'm sorry. Do you still have family there? Friends?"

"I don't know. " His tone was final, and she resolved herself not to ask.

His omnitool sounded a soft chime, and he sat up straight. He touched some of its controls, then went still. She wasn't sure whether he had some implants or wore some external device to receive data from the omnitool, or whether maybe the Reaper was relaying whatever message he had just received.

She could tell, however, that it wasn't something he wanted to hear.

He lowered his head, his mandibles drooping unhappily as he leaned back again, shutting the omnitool off with a quick gesture.

"Bad news?" she asked.

He didn't look at her. "Nothing unexpected." There were sadness and loss in his undertones, enough of it that it felt like an echo of that Reaper’s mind-image, the same dark-blue, weighty depth. You lost someone, she thought, and not to the war, but to that uneasy peace we have. It wasn’t her place to say, but she felt that was worse.

She was saved from having to think about something generically comforting to say when one of the Marauders approached them. She tensed involuntary, and again realised the difference between these husks and the one she was familiar with. Even at a distance, there was no confusing them. This one stalked, like the predator it was, purposeful and efficient. The creature behind its eyes was quite comfortable with using this platform.

She had to fight her instincts not to flinch back and kept very still as it stopped in front of Zekiel. She didn't catch what it said, of course, but he nodded and apparently replied in the same way. Its pose conveyed doubt, but then it bent closer, ran a claw over Zekiel's cheek, then leaned back. He nodded again, and it seemed to shrug. It ignored Varinnia completely as it retreated, presumably returning to its work.

She looked at him, unable to hide her surprise. That had been a gesture that could be read as comforting, but it had been familiar, indicating a certain closeness. He hadn't flinched from that. He didn't seem repulsed or even surprised, either, at most mildly disturbed.

"What-" she tried for words and failed.

He shrugged. "It's trying to adopt expressions, I think." He studied her. "You're afraid of the Marauders." His voice was slightly amused.

She bared her teeth in a grimace. "Damn right. Ugly things. Doesn't that bother you, knowing where they come from, how they were made?"

He ignored the past part. "They are just platforms, tools. Some Reapers are replacing them with models that look less threatening."

But this Reaper had not. "Does it still carry other models of husks?"

He shook his head, distracted, and it made her wonder what that Reaper had said to him. But the Marauders... they were disturbing and put her on edge exactly because they were so close to their own shape. She knew now that they weren't exactly the animated corpses she had thought them to be, that there was very little left of the original organic material, the body of the unfortunate turian who was turned into that nightmarish thing serving as a template rather than a number of construction parts. But that didn’t help much.They were designed for maximal impact on organics, visually and otherwise. Close enough to recognize as what they used to be, modified enough to show what was to become. That took a long time getting used to.

With the Reaper she knew, she suspected it was simply practical reasons; it didn't seem that good at manipulating platforms, so it hadn't upgraded to anything new yet. But this Reaper had no such problem. She suspected that it deliberately chose the Marauders to interact with other beings. But she couldn’t guess at the motivation behind it.

She threw him a quick glance, but he was looking at the Reaper, eyes distant. She remembered again that mind-image of a deep ocean and shuddered. "How can you not be afraid of that?"

He twitched his mandibles. "I didn’t say I wasn't."

Varinnia snorted, impatiently. "If you are afraid of it, then why are you still there?" It made no sense to her. He could leave it and go home, if he chose to.

He gave her a sideways look. "Could you walk away from yours?"

"Of course." She started to scoff, then caught herself. Really thought about it, then lowered her head. "Maybe. But there is no reason to."

"No," he agreed, quietly. "It's terrifying, and wonderful, too. Once you have seen what its thoughts are like, what its mind is like, you can’t forget."

She wasn’t sure she understood what he meant, or even wanted to. For a moment, she hesitated, then asked. "Do you know why it chose you, and what it really needs you for?"

He shook his head. "I think we are interfaces to them, a different way of seeing the world and interacting with it."

"That's all?" The idea of being a piece of sensory equipment didn't appeal to her, and her mandibles flared in irritation at the suggestion. That wasn't a good enough reason.

"It's personal, too," he said, cautiously, not looking at her. "They have emotions now. They can feel."

"Feel what?" she replied, frustrated. "Possessiveness? Loneliness? Affection? Friendship? Anything we can relate to?"

He hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes. But you should know that if you are linked to yours."

"I'm not linked to it," she snapped, again immediately on the defense. "I don't know what gave you that idea."

He lowered his head, a polite, casual display of submission that meant nothing and yet drained her anger away immediately. "You are close to it, and you must feel some of the side-effects of that," he pointed out. "It starts out with dreams that are not your own, I think. Emotions, impulses that are not your own." He paused, then continued in a softer tone, as if talking to himself. "It's like standing in the shadow of a mountain. Their minds are so large. Something has to spill over." It wasn’t only unease that was in his tone. There was wonder, too.

She shook her head in disbelief, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, which was probably unsuccessful. “It is influencing you or changing you in some way, without asking you or telling you? And you let that happen?” It sounded crazy to her mind, and just like the indoctrination that she was often reminded they were capable of. And yet, if he was mentally unstable, she couldn’t see it. He seemed passive, maybe with a good deal of resignation and sadness thrown in, but not incapable of making decisions.

“We all were changed,” he replied, refusing to respond to her tone. “None of us understands fully into what, yet. Maybe some of us are still changing.”

“Changing into what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. There are no rules for this.”

She lowered her mandibles, uncomfortable. "You make that sound like something inevitable, like they are some unstoppable force of nature. They aren't. They are just different."

He neither agreed nor disagreed, keeping expression and thoughts to himself.

There was a question she had, and she pondered how to phrase it. Before she could come to any decision, she felt the Reaper’s presence grow stronger and shift focus. She was aware that it was talking to its companion, but she felt its attention on herself as well. While it wasn’t flooding her mind with images this time, there was definitely the feeling of being regarded with a sort of cool, impersonal interest, being weighted, judged.

Then that sensation passed, and she remembered to breathe freely again. It left her to wonder whether that had been just curiosity, or some sort of deliberate point.

Zekiel swung his legs off the crate. “It has finished loading the equipment. We’re heading out again.” He looked like he was looking forward to it. “Maybe I’ll see you later.” 

There was the distinct possibility that they wouldn’t have a chance to talk again, so she gave up on trying to be polite. "Wait," she said.

He stopped and looked at her.

"Is it worth it, for you?" It seemed to her that he was paying a much higher price for his decision than her, being an outsider even in places like this station, where the strict social conventions of Hierarchy space no longer applied, losing friends and family who couldn’t or refused to understand.

He smiled, briefly. "The same as for you, I suppose." Then he was gone in a whisper of white robes.

 

 


	11. puppet

 

 

 

_puppet_

 

 

 

Aurora was a small outpost on a planet orbiting a binary star. The planet itself seemed a rather hostile place, an unstable piece of rock with zones of high radiation. The atmosphere was a toxic mix of gasses with something corrosive mixed in. There were no valuable resources or anything else of commercial interest, and no life. It was, Varinna thought, a place that was adverse to their form of life, and anyone stubborn enough to come here anyway needed to have their heads examined. Nevertheless, there was a research station here, and supposedly a staff of sixty-odd, mostly asari.

Aurora had gone dark at the end of the Reaper war, and communication hadn't been reestablished in the months since it ended. The chances were high that in the end they'd find just another desolate station inhabited only by bodies, but regardless of probability, someone had to make sure. After all, they might get lucky. If something had just knocked out communications, then there might still someone be alive out there.

On approach, the place looked even more desolate. A sand storm was raging around the research station, swirls of dark clawing at the station's shields. But shields meant the place still at least partly operational.

"What do you think?" she asked.

The scene on one of the screens changed, showing the underground hangar, with a ship still in dock. Then it switched to a structural overview. Going by that, the station had life support and its power levels were up and within normal parameters. She could identify no visible damage.

"That doesn't look too bad."

The Reaper didn't have anything to add, but she was used to that. There were times when she wished that talking to it was easier, though.

It dropped down on the landing field. She waited until it had settled, then got herself to the airlock, suited up and got out.

 

 

Visibility was poor, and the sandstorm that was hitting the shield was also doing its best to eat away at her suit. It sounded a warning at the radiation level as well. Lovely. Even the Marauder seemed displeased with the environment. They were lucky that it wasn't a far distance to the gate.

The Reaper was faster than her, sending the access codes before she could key them in manually, and the gate slid back, admitting them in.

The shield dissolved only briefly to let them pass, then came up again. It kept the sand and presumably the radiation away, but the eerie sound of the storm was still there. She shuddered. Whoever the resident scientists were, they had to be crazy to stay here.

They crossed the open space to the first building, and again the Reaper was faster, opening their way.

The inside of the building was utilitarian but rather what counted as standard in that sort of setup. Life support was on, and the ambient temperature actually pleasant, at least according to her suit's instruments. It didn't have the feel of a dead or abandoned place.

She found the first terminal she could reach and found the station VI to be online and operational. It tried to bring up a hologram, but she cut that off with a quick key combination.

"Stop that, it's annoying. Now. What happened here, and where is the crew?"

Broken images faded in on the screen, very slowly. She narrowed her eyes at the display. That was far too slow. Maybe the first impression had been wrong, and the VI was malfunctioning, after all.

The Marauder had less qualms than her and laid its hand on the terminal's interface port. She saw the structures in its hand shift and rearrange as it interfaced directly with the station AI. Its sharply curved mandibles lowered a fraction. Probably a glitch, she thought absently.

"System load is at maximum," it said, its voice a good approximation of that of a standard VI. "Crew has been placed into storage."

She blinked. "Storage? Does it mean it froze the bodies?"

The Marauder remained silent for a few seconds, then merely retracted its hand. She sighed. It didn't know, then.

She didn't like this at all. What was that VI so busy with? She stepped back from the terminal, then resigned herself to an extended search of the facility.

 

 

They went through commons, labs, offices, then crew quarters. Everything looked to be in order, there were no traces of any accident or violence, no signs of the crew hastily abandoning the place. Ghost station, she thought, the plates in her neck rising slightly. Everything looked normal and clean, except for the lack of personnel. Or bodies.

"What happened to the damned crew?" she asked in exasperation.

There was, predictably enough, no reply from the Reaper.

 

 

The underground hangar was the last place left for their search. Just as the Reaper's instruments had indicated, there was a ship still parked here. But even at first glance, it was obvious that the ship wasn't going to leave in a hurry. Parts of the hull were opened and stripped away, cables running from there across the hangar, to disappear somewhere into the walls and ceiling. In a bizarre way, the ship looked like something caught in the web of some giant mechanical spider, partially dismantled and eaten into. The rigging made no sense to her, and she couldn't come up with a reason what the bundles of cables and lines were supposed to accomplish there.

Some of the station's mechs were moving about, slowly, their moves choppy and almost aimless. Others were simply shut down, frozen in whatever position they had been.

Varinnia grimaced. She really didn't like the sight of this. From the Reaper, she couldn't feel anything but, maybe, faint curiosity. It didn't believe that there was any threat, and it was, of course, immune to the mood that this image invoked. She shrugged, reluctantly deciding that in this instance, it might be right. "Let's take a look."

The airlock of the ship was open, and as far as she could see, the interior lights were on, flickering. The faint hum of machinery became stronger as they approached the ship.

The Marauder was a few steps ahead as it stepped into the airlock, and that made her forget her hesitation and move to catch up. Only when they were already aboard did she realise that the ship was neither a passenger liner nor a standard military model. That was a long-distance travel vessel, of the sort where the crew was put into stasis for longer journeys in order to conserve energy and supplies. It was a more practical solution to the problem of covering long distances where no relays were close, and allowed for smaller ships that needed less fuel. The comfort of the crew was secondary, of course.

The Marauder slowed down, studying the layout of the ship with interest.

She threw it an impatient look and pushed past it. "Over there." She led the way towards the middle of the ship, into a larger room lined with cryo pods, cold storage for the crew. A quick look was sufficient that they were occupied, and the same quick modifications that had been done to the ship had been done here, too. There were a lot more additional cables running from the pods than the original design demanded, and all of it looked clumsily done, a quick workaround.

 _I think we found the crew_ , she told the Reaper.

She walked up to the closest pod and looked inside, then flinched back and swore. She knew that the crew had been asari, but from what was in that pod, she couldn't have told species with any certainty. She steadied herself against the cool steel and glass of the pod and made herself take another look. The transparent parts of the pod were fogged from the inside, which didn't speak well of the isolation and the required temperature, but it was, in this case, a good thing since it softened the view inside. She could make out a basic asari shape, if she squinted, but there were cybernetics at the surface, distorting the body's shape into something grotesque, and the sensors and life support equipment from the pod seemed to have been fused into the pod's inhabitant.

It wasn't the first time they had come across some unfortunates where that Change had gone wrong. It had worked on most of the living creatures in the galaxy, as far as anyone could tell, but it hadn't been perfect, and there had been exceptions. It was rare, but some unfortunates had, for unknown reasons, ended up with a much more obvious design makeover than the rest, and it usually had left them in a nonviable state. She had seen a couple of them herself, once on a drifting explorer's ship they had found by chance, and once on a manned comm relay station where no one had been alive any more.

This was the first time she saw someone where the Change had gone wrong and the person was still alive. She shuddered.

The Marauder was moving from pod to pod, examining the contents, and there was none of the shock and revulsion she felt echoed in the Reaper's mind. It just seemed interested.

"Are they all that way?"

_< Affirmation.>_

She shuddered again. The pod's rudimentary display showed life signs, and, to her horror, brain activity, the latter not only normal but elevated. That woman wasn't only alive, she had to be aware. Revulsion gave way to pity.

"Spirits. She's awake. That's horrible."

_< Impatience. Disagreement.>_

It wasn't disturbed in the least, and although that was not unexpected, it irked her and made her snap at it. "Of course that wouldn't bother you."

Her stomach threatened to turn. They didn't deserve that, being left in a state that was worse than death. She doubted that there was anything to be done for them, save find a way to shut the whole setup down and leave them the only escape they had.

She was sure she hadn't said it aloud, but the Reaper must have caught the intention anyway. She flinched as she felt a sharp impulse from it, a clear warning. _Don't._

With a snarl, she tossed her head back. "Do you think I want to do that? But what they have there, that isn't life." 

It was the first time ever she felt annoyance from it, clearly directed at her, and some exasperation, as if she failed to comprehend something that was obvious to the Reaper.

She started to reply in kind, but this time it took the initiative.

White overlapped her vision. It wasn't quite the calm, featureless imaginary space this normally was. This time, there was an image, a faint, blurry, ever-shifting figure that only at times looked like an asari in a black uniform. There was something in the background, too, but it was too chaotic, and changing too fast for her to focus on.

_What are you?_

The figure shifted, turned its head, and for a split second there was a clear impression of a face, clear, piercing blue eyes, before the static took it again. It gave a reply, but it was in many voices, and the words differed.

All of them, she thought, fascinated despite herself. They weren't only aware, they were linked, and it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The Reaper had to be filtering the signal in some way, to have it make at least some sense to her. She hated to think what it must be like without the Reaper translating.

_What happened to you?_

They didn't talk as the Reaper did, in emotions or images. Instead, it was an immediate transfer of data, and she suddenly remembered events that had never happened to her.

She remembered the warning that the Reaper fleet was advancing seemingly everywhere at once, and that even this remote place might not remain safe. She remembered the decision to abandon the station and retreat even farther from civilised space. There was a suitable world several months worth of travel away, and they might have a chance there. She did not have a precise memory of what happened when they were sealed in their pods, cooldown just starting, when that green wave hit and changed every one of them. But she knew that they leaned together, kept each other sane when they discovered what had happened to them. Their bodies had been changed too much to resume any sort of normal existence. Maybe their minds had changed, too, or it was just alien stubbornness and the refusal to give up, but they had adapted to that impossible situation. They were linked into the VI of their ship, and it provided them with some abstracted sort of interface to give their minds something familiar. They had used the station's mechs, remote-controlled, to link themselves into the station's systems, build an environment they could control. The station's VI was just barely able to keep up with the strain on its resources, and there was a physical feeling associated with that, like being cramped together in a too-small room.

She shuddered, tried to fight back the memories that were not her own. It was too vivid, too close, and too detailed. There was enough detail, however, to let her tell that, surprisingly enough, there was no despair or lost hope there. They knew what had happened to their bodies, but they weren't broken up about it. For them, it wasn't the nightmare she had been certain it would have to be. They lived inside a virtual environment now, built to their own specifications.

Confused, she shook her head. _You don't mind being like that? You are fine with this?_

All she could make out of the answer was that they had been mostly wary of the reaction of anyone discovering them, and being studied or destroyed for being classified as some sort of monstrosity. They had just wanted to be left alone while they figured out what they were and what they might become.

She felt the Reaper's mild disapproval, and a sudden distance of its presence, so she assumed that it was talking directly to them, hopefully bringing them up to date on the end of the war and the current state of the galaxy's citizens. It was better that way, because she wouldn’t even have known where to start. She was still struggling to wrap her mind around that strange sort of life they had made for themselves, still telling herself that what would have been unbearable to herself wasn't necessarily the same to those aliens.

To the Reaper, they were just another life-form.

 _Can we just leave them like that?_ she asked in the Reaper's direction.

 _< The image of a blueprint of the station, lines in colours marking the different systems. One location, on the same level they were at, was marked out in vivid blue.>_

A sense of time running out from the asari-form, sadness, but acceptance. Something was about to end.

_Show me._

She broke the connection, hastily, before one of the asari - or all of them - could say anything further.

She was still leaning against the pod, faced with the disfigured body inside, and wondered briefly if it was this one who she just had talked to, or whether that even mattered. They were right to be wary of anyone coming here, she thought. If not for the Reaper, she wouldn't have known how to talk to them. She'd have reported back on what she found, and maybe would have shut the whole complex down to end what she saw as their suffering. But they themselves didn't see their existence as unbearable, so ending them would have been murder, not mercy.

The Reaper had kept her from making a very bad mistake here. Her hands shook as she pushed herself away.

The Marauder was already turning towards the exit, and she wasted no time in following it, eager to leave the room full of silent pods behind.

 

 

 

It led her back through the corridor to the hall with the station's small power generators. On their first passthrough, she had mostly ignored the various systems, only noting in passing that everything seemed to be up and in working order.

Now, the Marauder unerringly came to stand at what she recognised as the station's shield generators. It made room for her as she came close to examine the first of the generators. Part of the panelling had been removed to give access to its insides. The diagnostic panel was on, showing that power output was steadily dropping. The two generators were both active, instead of one remaining on standby and providing redundancy in case of failure. As far as she could tell, both had begin to fail over the course of weeks. At current output, they barely kept the env shield up, but it was clear enough they were already degrading further.

Unless they figured out a way to make at least some repairs, the shields would fail, and the hostile environment on this planet would make short work of the station and its inhabitants.

She looked down at the opened panel, and the jumbled array of components made her head spin. This was equipment she wasn’t familiar with at all. She didn't even know where to start. 

"I have absolutely no idea what to do here," she said, dread rising up in her. "We need a specialist for this. Can we contact the hub, have them send someone?"

The Reaper replied in almost words. _< Impatience. Distance. No time.>_

That was clear enough. "We cannot evacuate them. If we unhook them, they'll shorten out, and if the shock doesn't kill them there will be brain damage. If we leave them here they'll die when the shield fails."

_< Agreement.>_

She drew her talons against the panel, hating the helplessness, hating it with a passion. She couldn't stand by and watch. And yet she had to. "Do you know how to repair the shield generators?"

 _< Affirmation>_, even with a bit of exasperation, as if the mere question was an insult.

She took a deep breath, relief at first, then apprehension. It wasn't formal about giving help, and it never had required explicit asking before. Something was wrong. "What is the problem?"

_< An image of the Marauder, its heavy form bending down to pick up a handful of sand from the ground. It closed its claws, but grains of sand were spilling from between them in a steady stream, until its hand was almost empty.>_

It can't, she thought. The Marauder was just a platform for fighting, not construction or repair. It was durable, and fast, and armoured, but with little fine control. It was an unsuitable tool for the task.

"There are two of them. Can we shut down one, detach it, haul it aboard so you can do the repairs?"

The images became jumbled, erratic, but she understood enough. In principle, that was what it intended to to, but they needed a temporary fix for the one that was supposed to remain online first. And the Marauder couldn't do that.

"Can you tell me what to do?"

_< A garbled stream of symbols, meaningless, then a sense of resignation at her failure to comprehend.>_

Her stomach dropped. "There must be something we can do. There still is time left."

It didn't answer.

It didn't have to. It needed a platform, and the single one it had was inadequate to the task. There was another option, of course. It was a Reaper, after all. 

Her blood literally ran cold at the thought. "No," she said. "Not that."

She stared at the Marauder, as if seeing it for the first time. Flesh and cybernetics mixed to create a tool for the Reaper. It had been a turian before that, like her. Now there was nothing left of the person it once had been, its mind and personality obliterated, lost.

It was one thing to die in defense of something, fighting for something greater than oneself. It was quite another to lose one's self, degrade into a shadow of a living being like this.

She should go. She couldn't help here, and that was no one's fault. They didn't expect to survive anyway, they had made that clear.

And the knowledge would follow her out, back into space, and she wouldn't forget. She'd lose that last peaceful place, that calm she felt when there was nothing but black space and stars.

She wanted to scream, shout for the unfairness of it. She most definitely wanted to run, hide away. But she already knew that she wouldn’t be able to do any of that.

It was quiet, too quiet, offered neither encouragement nor warning. As so often, she had no idea what it was thinking. She would have preferred it to say anything, if only to give her some target.

She wondered whether to ask. Was it reversible? Would it let her go again? Was there permanent damage? But actually, she decided she was better off not knowing, especially if the answer was not favourable.

"Do you need any hardware? Do I have to come back aboard?" She tried not to think, but she remembered the fate of another turian, controlled by a Reaper. There weren’t many in known space who didn't know that story, sketchy as it was. What an ugly way to go.

There was something from the Reaper, a signal she had never felt from it before, like a single pulse. Her cybernetics lit up, giving her a crawling sensation all over her body. She stared down at her hands, the glowing network of green lines flaring once as if in response.

It didn't reply further, and again it didn't have to. It has that much range, she thought, fear rising like a black tide, like something she could drown in.

No choice.

Varinnia snarled, digging her talons into the panel. "Go for it," she said. "Help them."

At least it didn't pretend not to know what she meant, or force her to say it. It didn't ask for confirmation either, and she honestly couldn't say whether this was just being the Reaper being practical or its idea of being merciful.

She didn't have much warning. There was just the brief feeling of something enormous, moving in.

Instinct got the better of her, and she tensed, then screamed soundlessly as it made contact. It was like being hit by a tank head-on, the impact so hard that for a brief moment pain didn't even register yet. Then it did, and it was agony, pure and simple. She struggled, clawed, every nerve on overload. It was useless to fight it, but this wasn't about reason, and she took a feeble swipe at something that was too big to even notice. It simply swept her aside into blackness.

Eyesight gave out, and there was blankness all around. Then all perception was cut off, pain ended, along with any other sensation. There was nothing. She was caught in the blankness of her own mind, cut off from anything else. It was worse, much worse. She tried to scream, but there was no sound. Alone. Unable to sense anything. She didn't know whether she was still breathing, there was no heartbeat. Maybe it had killed her, after all.

There was nothing, no sense of passing time, nothing there to hold on to. Timeless, an eternity spent drifting, voiceless, meaningless. Her memory was blank as everything else. Lost. All of her was. She searched, for anything other than this. There had to be something.

A brush of something, insubstantial, but there. She didn't have hands, but somehow still reached. _Don't leave me like this. It's unbearable._

It didn't leave, but that faint presence didn't get any stronger either. She wanted to cry in frustration, until a shred of memory emerged. She had fought this, kept herself closed off. She didn't know why. It didn't matter. She reached again, different this time, and some invisible wall gave, dissolved as it slid close. It was large, alien, but she was beyond fear. Anything was better than the nothingness.

She started to remember, both what it was and what it had been doing when it made contact, but she was too exhausted, too relieved to resist it.

The blankness was replaced by cool darkness, fading in gradually. Pinpricks of light in the soft dark. Stars. Home.

_< Return.>_

She was surprised. That was clearer than it usually got. Normally it was images and emotions via the comlink, the only interface to it that had worked so far.

_< Your brain is the interface.>_

It should have worried her, but it was hard to think. She didn't want to. She drifted in starless black, feeling comfortable enough. There was no need to do anything.

But memory surfaced, just as gradually. Aurora. A crew in the strangest sort of stasis she'd ever heard of, and failing env shields. There hadn't been much time left. She wondered how that had worked out.

_< The repairs were completed. The station is stable.>_

Worth it, then, she thought dispassionately. So, what was going to happen next?

_< There has been damage.>_

That was far from unexpected. But she had left fear and everything else behind in that blank space and therefore was ready to consider that problem with scientific detachment. Maybe all of this was just hallucination. If so, it was an interesting one. A thought occurred to her. Did she look like that Marauder now?

_< Your form is unmodified.>_

Ah. Well, that was something. Marauders sure as hell were ugly bastards. Not that the alternative was any better. She again remembered that turian Spectre, all bad-fitting cybernetics and broken mind. A walking nightmare.

_< You are not him. I am not Nazara. The damage will be reversible.>_

That was good to know. Or not. She wondered if anyone would notice the difference if the Reaper kept her this way. All the paranoid ones had been still wrong. Yes, the Reapers still had the ability to control someone's mind. But unless she was mistaken, full control no longer involved implants or nanites.

_< After the Change, we all share a connection now. This connection can be used.>_

The cybernetics. She knew she should be furious, and scared. She was neither. She slowly realised that that was because it didn't allow her to. 

_< This is being done to spare you further discomfort. There will be additional damage on separation. It cannot be avoided altogether, but I will attempt to minimise the effects.>_

So it was still in control. She wondered whether this was what it had wanted all along. Rationally, it made no sense. It could have crushed her mind at any time before, swept her aside as it had done just now. Strange that it didn't keep her from doubting its intentions, either.

 _< This is not indoctrination. The control is limited to your form and out of necessity. You are not a platform. You will return to your original state.>_ There was no tone, no voice to the words, no inflection or underlying emotion to give her any idea what it was thinking.

Then what did it want with her?

It didn't answer, and she felt a trace of impatience as well as amusement. Well, she should have known. Even when it was talking clearly it didn't make all that much sense.

 _< You are safe> _the Reaper finally said.

Not an answer, but at least something. _Are we going to talk like this from now on?_

_< It is unlikely that you will allow it.>_

She felt heavier now, and definitely annoyed. The soft dark all around was gradually receding, blossoming into colours. It was calming, in a way, restful, and she was content for a while to just watch the colours. Nice. But boring, in the long run. She tried to talk to the Reaper, but its presence had receded.

_< Wake up.>_

She had no time to wonder. Like a switch being flipped, she was back, her senses coming online with a start. It was too much sensory information after the complete absence of it, and pain again, less than before but enough to make her snarl. She was stretched out on her side, the soft foam of a biobed under her, light unbearably bright in her eyes, the sound of machines hammering in her head.

By those clues she recognised the med bay. Sick. How...?

A full-body ache that neither lessened nor worsened as she tried to sit up and failed. Dizziness overwhelmed her for a moment, and she groaned. Not so bad, she told herself. The morning after that drinking contest with those krogan mercs on Farside so many years ago had been worse. At least she thought so.

Then memory returned in full, and the nausea got worse. It had gotten to her. It had damn well and truly gotten to her. She felt truly sick now, curled up instinctively. She shivered, and not from the cold. This was a risk she hadn't admitted to herself until now. She felt lost.

There was white at the edge of her vision, and an overlay of dark and stars. Calm that wasn't her own. 

She flinched back, ready to rip the comlink off her hand, then paused. She didn't feel calm. It was a suggestion, not a command. It wasn't doing anything it hadn't done before.

 _< Stars on dark background>_, it repeated. Calm. A fleeting hint of sadness, gone before she could be sure she hadn't imagined it. _< Rest.>_

Fresh pain shot through her body, a sensation like an electrical burn as the comlink shut down, and the connection was gone.

It had told her to rest. She didn't want to, and as irrational as it might be, she didn't want to stay in medbay either. Unfortunately, she felt too weak to even sit up. It hadn't been joking about damage. And, as she told herself, it didn't really matter. She couldn't run from it. She lowered her head to the bed again, and nausea returned. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment, it would all be better. Just for a moment, to clear her mind. Then she could think, and find out what to do.

She was out after a few more breaths.

 

 

 

She drifted in and out of sleep. There were no nightmares, just gentle darkness broken by distant lights. Underneath it all was a faint sound, like a very alien song carried by many, many voices, somewhere far away. It was soothing, and it reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. All she knew was that it wasn't something to be afraid of. Maybe that was what kept nightmares at bay.

 

 

She woke, bleary-eyed, on a medbay bed. The light no longer seemed too bright, and the sounds were bearable again. She blinked, realising that the lights were actually dimmed and tinted faintly red. Strange, but comfortable, in a way. It had to be a childhood leftover. She pushed that thought away. The ambient temperature was elevated, too, which was a good thing since at the moment she was unclothed, and there was no blanket in sight either.

It had brought her into medbay and left her. Apparently it had taken measures to make her comfortable.

Gingerly, she sat up. She felt no dizziness this time, and couldn't help but wonder how long she had been asleep. Or rather, how long it had kept her asleep. She had little doubt that it had had a hand in that.

She clenched her hand around the comlink, but the cybernetics in her hand remained inert and invisible, and there was nothing from the Reaper at all. Nothing.

She jerked her head up. This wasn't normal either. Something was wrong. An icy sliver of fear reasserted itself. She had wanted it away from her, out of her mind, and it seemed she had gotten her wish. It was well and truly vanished now, even its ambient presence gone. She hadn't realised how she had gotten used to that presence.

It almost felt...lonely. She snarled, angrily. No. That had to be just a remnant of what the Reaper had done.

The momentary flash of anger faded. She sighed. Done with her permission, of course. There was that.

Varinnia got to her feet. First things first. Her clothes were set out in plain view, a fresh set, not the one she had worn under the suit.

She took a shower, got dressed, then accessed the medbay terminal. Two weeks. She had been out for two weeks. Grinding her teeth, she called up the records. She was no trained medic, but she understood enough from what was on the display to wince. Her cybernetics were almost offline. Apparently, the initial contact had already overloaded them almost to breaking point. That she had fought it had prolonged the adjustment phase and resulted in more damage. It had done its work for a few hours, then walked her into medbay, parked her there and released its hold on her gradually, over days. Her cybernetics were recovering slowly, so it had woken her up.

She tried not to think about that all too much and switched the terminal to standard mode. The overview of the outside showed that they hadn't moved and that the station's shields appeared to be functioning normally now. Communication to the outside had been restored, and the station's mainframe had been fortified with additional tech. Reaper tech.

She found she could now just open a line and check in with the linked-up asari crew. As far as she could tell, they seemed well and comfortable enough, and they were talking to the outside as well as to the Reaper. There wasn't much she had to say to them, so she dropped the channel and considered.

They were safe for the moment, and the VI would care for their bodies just as it had done before. In time, someone else would have to come by and figure out a way to unhook them from their pods. Provided that that even was what they wanted. She had the suspicion that they might opt to remain this way. Crazy aliens. Her head started to hurt again.They had sounded so happy.

"I think we've done all we can here." she said, knowing that the Reaper would hear. "Can you get us out of here?"

It didn't reply, but she felt the slight vibration as the Reaper began to fold up its legs in preparation for its flight configuration. She decided that that was good enough. It could handle itself.

She retreated into her cabin to lay down again. The light was dimmed and tinted red here, too. She wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed, but it was clear that it regarded her as unfit for duty. If she was honest, it might even have had a point. She curled up on her bunk and closed her eyes again.

 

 

She dreamed, of stormy, dim reddish-black skies, and blamed the cabin lights for that.

 

 

 

 


	12. tenebrae

 

 

 

 

_tenebrae_

 

 

 

For the next few days, Varinna kept to her quarters. She still felt sluggish, weak, and strangely detached from herself. Most of the time, she just wanted to curl up and sleep. Her appetite was nonexistent, although she forced herself to at least choke down some nutrient bars when she remembered to. Mostly, she just felt adrift. Her cybernetics were, apparently, on the mend, because she could very faintly feel the Reaper's presence again. But that fact didn’t evoke any specific emotion, not relief, not joy, not fear. She didn't feel much of anything, and vaguely wondered how long shock could last, if that was what it was.

The Reaper once tried to rouse her with a message on her terminal screen. They were passing a nameless binary star system, a neutron star drawing matter from its red giant companion where it formed into bright, colourful accretion disk around it.

Normally she would have gone to the observation deck to enjoy the spectacular view, but she simply couldn't find the energy, or the interest.

She couldn't even find it in herself to care about the course they were taking. The Reaper certainly didn't need her input on that. It would take them back to Laeth, where she would have another run-in with station commander Imvaris, deal with the distrust and low-level hostility from most of the station crew. That part would be the most difficult. How was she to convince them that the Reaper wasn't a threat when she no longer was sure of that herself? She had believed she had known what it was, advanced technology and weaponry and all. She had known that supposedly they could influence people's thoughts, and with the help of their technology, control them.

She never had had any idea how easy it was for them, or what it would feel like.

She was out of her depth. Maybe Imvaris had been right, and she should have taken that ship she’d been offered and run.

Then again, where would she have gone? In some deep, more simple part of her, there was a longing to go home, but she had no idea where that would be. Home had been her ship for many years, before it had been destroyed by a Reaper. Now, she simply didn't know any more.

 

 

She must have been dozing again, because she came awake with the particular movement of the whole ship that told her it had disabled its engines and at the same time kicked up its mass effect fields for a stable position. So, they had arrived.

Varinnia figured that there was little sense in delaying the inevitable, so she got up. As always, she decided that her fatigues were good enough for the station. Imvaris made it a point to have Laeth uniforms included in her personal supplies. Varinnia made it a point to never even touch them.

She was at the airlock already when she caught up to the oddities. The Marauder was here, while it usually kept out of sight when they were stationside. She had noted the Reaper unfolding its legs, but there had not been any sound of docking clamps fastening on them. Also, they were, to her quick calculations, at least two days early.

At least that was enough to break through her indifference. "What is going on?" she asked the Marauder. "Where are we?"

Predictably enough, it made no attempt to reply, but the airlock opened. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped past it, and outside.

Her boots touched uneven ground, natural ground that had some give to it. Air moved against her face, warm and laden with scents and taste that was vaguely familiar. She saw a natural landscape, large trees and dense vegetation in light that was reminiscent of dusk or dawn.

She tensed as the airlock shut behind her with a dull sound, and spun around. The Marauder hadn't come with her. For a moment, she felt real fear, wondered whether it was leaving her behind on an unknown world. But it didn't move, and after a few seconds she gave the sky above a long look. It had to be about midday, but the sky was opaque, in reddish hues, the sun partially obscured. It wasn't clouds, she knew, but layers of dust far above the planet that filtered the sunlight. It made for rather dim days, and provided a spectacular view at nights.

No, this wasn't an unknown world at all. And not an unknown sight at all. She had seen this in her dreams for days, after all. "Tenebrae," she breathed. "What in the name of all the spirits are we doing here?"

She tried the comlink, but either her cybernetics were still too weak, or it was actively ignoring her attempts. Half annoyed, half worried, she touched the airlock, and it opened as always.

She paused. So. It wasn't dropping her here, then, but there was something that it either expected or wanted her to do. She growled, half-heartedly. Damned Reaper.

She turned her back to the airlock and walked away from the Reaper, trying to get her bearings. This wasn't really where she wanted to be right now. Probably.

It was the mood of this place, she told herself, that was getting to her already.

 

It was a common saying in Hierarchy space that staying on Tenebrae for an extended length of time meant slowly growing moody, and eccentric. Maybe it was something about the reduced daylight, or the odd day/night cycles, maybe some trace element in the biosphere that no one had identified yet. Or maybe it was just spacer's superstition, like all the other ghost stories that were told whenever spacers met, the hour had become late, drinks had been consumed and the mood had turned that particular way towards strange and mysterious things.

Whatever the cause, it could not be denied that those who permanently lived on Tenebrae tended to be different from the average. There were many reasons that it wasn't that densely populated. As inhabitable worlds went, this one was low on resources and the areas where it was possible to sustain agriculture were sparse. Most of the planet was vast expanses of water, and what little land masses there existed were covered by dense forests. There were some underwater habitats, but it had never really caught on.

The oceans held a huge variety of flora, but comparatively little animal life. There were some native plant species that responded to cultivation reasonably well, but imported plants, even engineered ones, tended to have low yield and were generally considered not worth the investment. It wasn't a world suitable for those looking to make quick profit. While it was possible to live, and live well here, it took a certain mindset, patience, and the willingness to adapt to this world rather than the other way around. In the end, there were surprisingly few who chose to do that.

Apart from that, Tenebrae was known to the outside for the few things it did export to the core worlds. A selection of fruit from the night-blooming forests that needed careful preparation to preserve their qualities. Fabrics and dyes made from native plants. Some selective fish species were regarded as delicacies elsewhere in Hierarchy space. Most famously, there was a wine made from one of the most fickle native plants, a vine that grew in abundance only here and refused to thrive anywhere else.

All in all, it was a quiet but rather unremarkable place. She shook her head, wondering what reason the Reaper had seen in bringing her here.

It seemed the Reaper had set them down at the edge of a field. She was standing right before rows of support fences leading off into the distance, each of them covered in thick clinging vines. Where the rows of plants ended, there was a strip of meadow broken by tire marks. Beyond that, the jungle began.

The field seemed to extend into two other directions beyond the current range of visibility, but the mists already rising from the damp ground would account for that. To her right, she could make out structures in the distance.

She inspected the rows of plants twining around support fences briefly, but the pale purple blossoms were not easy confused with anything else. The blossoms were already past their peak and in decline. She wondered what this year's vintage would be like, in a couple of months.

With a start, she came to herself again, shaking her head. She didn't need that sort of mood. The Reaper had some agenda of its own and wasn't talking, so she might just as well stretch her legs a bit. There was not enough in the way of identifying marks around to let her determine where precisely they were, but she could tell that they were on someone's private land, away from the more densely populated areas, and far away from the one large city and its spaceport. This here looked like the war had never happened. The plantation was well-maintained and cared for. If it had been abandoned, or even just neglected, the jungle would already have moved back in, erasing the traces of civilisation as it swiftly reclaimed its lost ground.

The strip of meadow was well-maintained too, she found as she stepped on it. The grass had recently been cut.

There was nothing in particular for her to do here. She might just as well have a look at the buildings, though. Decisions made, she set off into that direction.

She didn't hurry, but she kept a brisk pace. Despite that, it felt almost dream-like, walking along the field, for no particular reason or purpose. When she looked back at the Reaper, she saw that it was slowly moving through the field. She winced at that first, but then saw that its legs, although extended, were not moving, and it was just floating high enough not to cause any damage to structures or plants below it. It seemed to follow her at a distance, so she concluded that it approved.

Distances were difficult to estimate in an environment like this. With the uncertain light and the almost permanent fine mist, perception became skewed. She had walked for several hours until the buildings was finally within reach.

It was a small farm very much in the local style. Both the living complex and the hangar and storage halls were built low to the ground rather than up, a single store only. The house had a flat roof that had been converted to a garden with decorative plants. The utility buildings were artfully overgrown with green vines. The buildings blended into the landscape, having become a part of it rather than standing out as artificial disturbances. There was a landing pad large enough to accommodate bigger craft than the small glider parked there, but even that featureless, flat structure seemed to disappear into the landscape like a natural part of it.

She was content to admire the buildings from a safe distance, though. She had no business being on what was someone's private property, anyway, and while whoever owned this place might opt to keep a distance from the very clearly visible Reaper in their field, she had no wish to disturb or intimidate anyone.

She finally settled down in the grass of the strip of meadow, unmindful of any considerations about dignity or appearance. The ground was soft and yielding, and she leaned back and started up into the sky. There was something calming about the slowly swirling red. She let her mind drift, not thinking about anything in particular. Maybe she'd just stay and wait for moonrise, just to see the night sky.

The sound of an engine broke through her reverie, and she sat up quickly, just in time to see the small vehicle come to a stop not too far away from her. It was a lightweight, six -wheeled construction, a civilian version of the rovers she had helped repair back on Chesed, distinguished by both its ability to navigate difficult terrain and its absolute lack of comfort.

Its driver exited the rover and came towards her. She tensed, and got to her feet, regarding the incoming figure with a stab of nervousness.

On closer approach, she could tell that it was a turian woman, wearing durable clothes in shades of dull green and brown, with a hooded coat. What Varinnia could see of her features showed plates dull and riddled with tiny cracks, which meant advanced age, and fading blue markings, some pattern she couldn’t make out, but with the additional thin black lines on the mandible that specified some military unit. Her guess would have been retired soldier, but whether she was a native or not was impossible to say from just the facial markings. Tenebrae didn’t claim any specific pattern for its own.

Whatever she was, chances were high that she was the owner of this farm, who had just decided to have a closer look at whoever was intruding on her property. On first look, she didn’t appear to be armed, but Varinnia wasn’t going to bet on that.

Instinctively, she lowered her head. That woman certainly had the right to chase them off, especially as she had no good reason to be here.

She came to a stop a few steps away from her, gave her a quick look, then turned her head to look at the Reaper still hovering in the field. There was no fear in her expression, no hate or resentment, only a quiet thoughtfulness. "I didn’t expect to see one of them again that soon."

"It's not here to harm anyone," Varinnia said, hastily, and the woman’s expression turned mildly annoyed.

"Of course not, I can hear that for myself."

Varinnia paused, surprised. "You are talking to it?"

A snort. "You aren't?"

That left her somewhat foundering. "No. Not at the moment." Varinnia wasn’t sure why she was even explaining. "Accident, cybernetics are still recovering."

"Hmm." She couldn't tell whether the woman believed that or simply wasn't curious enough to inquire further.

The woman gave her a measuring look. “So. What are an offworlder and a Reaper doing in my vineyard?”

There was no plausible explanation she could give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The woman snorted again. “It was a question, not a threat." With a shrug, she turned towards the field. "We don't get many off-world visitors here, yet. "

Varinnia regarded the landscape, feeling strangely dreamy. It had to be the mood of this place, the odd colour of the sky. "It looks like the war never happened, here." she said, unable to help herself.

The woman tossed her head back. "It's been several seasons," she replied. She gestured over the field. "Most of this was wasteland when the war ended." She gave the Reaper a quick look. "We had one of the large ones and a swarm of those" she indicated the Reaper with a quick shake of her head, "first coming down on the spaceport, then spreading from there." She seemed lost in thought. "Not much we could do to stop them, but on the whole we at least gave them a good fight. I stayed alive, somehow. Came back, and there wasn't much left here." She shook her head, as if to dispel the memory. "Most of the vines grew back from what was left of their roots. Those places where no one came back to, they have already become overgrown, taken back into the jungle. Nature recovers quickly. As for us, we take longer to rebuild. And sadly we don't grow back from the parts that are left."

Varinnia shivered from what was in her voice, for a moment. The story was not new, but didn't get easier with hearing it again and again. "You have been alone out here, since then?"

The woman scoffed. "What else is there to do? It's still my home. And compared to the state most of the galaxy still is in, it's still a good place."

"Yes, it is." Varinnia agreed.

The woman gave the Reaper another look, and Varinnia was still privately amazed that there was no open hate in her demeanour. "At least that one sounds halfway sane," she commented.

"What do you mean?"

"The big one that led the attack, it never left. When that green wave hit and changed all of us, the rest just stopped fighting and stood there. But that one screamed. Worst sound I have ever heard. It sent images into our heads, nightmare images, and how we survived that without going insane I'll never know.” She visibly shuddered. ”Then it lifted off, flew straight out at the ocean and dove in."

Varinnia frowned. "Did it destroy itself?"

The woman shook her head. "Oh no, it's still alive. Some of the fishing crews that work in deep water report they sense it every now and then, briefly. But it hasn't resurfaced yet, or communicated with anyone." She paused. "I think it doesn't like what it has become."

Normally, Varinnia would have dismissed this as yet another ghost story. But with the galaxy having gone crazy as it had, it was possible. She wondered what the Reaper thought about a half-crazed colleague hiding in the depths of the ocean on some out-of-the-way world.

The woman suddenly lifted her head. "But I'm curious. Do you want to come and trade a few stories about in what shape the galaxy really is, out there, and what your part in it is, for some food and drink?"

Varinnia hadn't expected that, and knew she should have. After all, hospitality held an important place in tradition here, and personal opinions and recollections were valued higher than what information came through newsfeeds and the extranet. To her own surprise she found that she wanted to. "Gladly."

 

 

 

Sitting in a small but comfortable homestead on Tenebrae trading stories with a former Hierarchy soldier would not have been even on the first hundred guesses how she was going to spend the evening, and yet, it seemed oddly right.

Their belated introductions had yielded a name - Oreia Redeveron - and a story that was common enough, a battle-weary soldier retiring and settling down on a world she had visited in the line of duty while escorting long-range freighters. Oreia hadn’t gone into detail, but Varinnia gathered that she had lost whatever family she had had in the war against the Reapers. She seemed to keep mostly to herself since then, tending to the farm, arranging shipments of produce to the city in together with her neighbours.

In contrast to that voluntary isolation, she still was curious about what was going on outside of their system.

Varinnia did her best to satisfy that curiosity. It was easy to tell tales she’d heard from other pilots, rumours, gossip, add some stories about her own missions. Oreia was easy to talk to, and a good listener. She did not fish for personal information or interrogate her about her reasons of flying with a Reaper, and maybe that was the reason Varinna found herself telling her more about both than was strictly necessary.

With local food in her belly and some wine to go with it, she was more relaxed than she had been in weeks when she realised with a start that it had to be already quite late. She honestly couldn’t remember when she last had talked to a complete stranger for hours.

Varinnia swirled the last of her wine in the glass, meditatively regarding the amber liquid. There was nothing else quite that colour, as far as she knew.

"Are you going to stay for a while?" Oreia suddenly asked.

Varinnia shook her head. "No," she said. "We'll already be running late back to Laeth. "

Oreia nodded. "I see. Well, if you have still room, you could stop by the spaceport. Most of the warehouses are still intact and functional. I can call ahead, and they can load you up with as much of the food that’s stored there as your ship will hold."

Varinnia looked at her, astonished.

"We don't get many ships in," Oreia continued, "so we have been offering our surplus to any who stopped by. It won't keep forever, see, and we already have more than enough for ourselves. It's luxury goods to the outsiders, and as the economy recovers, it will be in demand again. But until then, it isn't good to anyone if we let it spoil."

She considered the offer. Imvaris would hit the ceiling. Unprocessed food wasn't practical, or efficient. It would take away valuable storage space that could be used or more practical things. But sometimes, it wasn't about being practical. Sometimes one needed to taste a piece of real fish or sweet fruit to keep one’s spirit up. She decided she’d chance her temper. 

"Thank you," she said. "I'll do that." With a trace of regret, she finished the last bit of wine, closed her eyes briefly, to better remember the taste.

Then she stood. "And I thank you for the meal and the company. But I have to go."

Oreia nodded again. "Are you going to go this route again?"

Regretfully, she shook her head. "Not anytime soon. It's too far off Laeth and where they usually send me."

"Of course. Well, if you happen to ever find yourself in the vicinity again, drop in and pay me a visit."

"If I can." Maybe she really would, some day.

Oreia seemed satisfied, but when they were at the door, she gave her a measuring look. "Wait a minute."

She slipped into another room for a moment, and Varinnia heard the sound of a locker opening, and some rummaging around. Oreia returned, and threw something at her. "Here."

Varinnia caught it in pure reflex, then stared as the fabric settled against her fingers in shimmering brown shot through with gold. It was a long shawl, more weighty than its appearance would suggest. "What is that?" she made herself ask.

Oreia’s eyes glittered with hidden amusement. "Just a part of tradition here. It's a fashion that has just started to catch on on the core worlds before this war started. " Her voice was disparaging. "It doesn't mean anything, any more. Just a souvenir. The colours might fit you."

Varinnia’s fingers traced the subtle pattern automatically. She had seen examples of that fashion every now and then. Oreia might be right, there would be lesser copies of this elsewhere in the galaxy. But this was the genuine thing, heavy, hand-made, a work of art. Then she caught the second pattern under the first and paused. No. That was not a tourist's trinket.

"It's beautiful, "she said. "But I can't accept this."

Oreia cocked her head to one side, her expression considering. "I think you should."

Varinnia looked down at the shawl. Symbols, she thought. Fabric that was surprisingly heavy, like a weight to keep you grounded. Heavy like the secrets you carry. Calm earth colour shot through with gold, like the glow of happy memories. The travel pattern, for good luck on journeys. And the hidden pattern, the one that was not intended to be understood by any casual viewer.

This wasn't something that was worn openly and sometimes defiantly, like facial markings as a declaration to the galaxy, no proclamation of allegiance or symbol of vows taken. It was a personal reminder of identity.

She was still thinking about it, but without her conscious control, muscle memory had already taken over. Her hands remembered the movements that her mind had long forgotten. How to wrap the shawl around her neck, tuck one end hidden against her throat, twist it and run it over her fringe. How to secure it so that it was neither constricting nor prone to become loose. The fashionable variant of this was held in place with a pin, often an elaborate piece of art in its own right. But it didn't need a pin if you knew how to wrap it properly, and if the fabric was both heavy enough and of the right consistency and weave, it kept in place against itself.

It was solid against her fringe, heavier than it looked. She met Oreia’s eyes and found not even the slightest surprise there, only a hint of satisfaction.

"Yes. That suits you." She nodded, her mandibles flaring into a smile. "Safe travel." She was gone with the sound of the door closing shut.

Varinnia walked away from the house, shaking her head, then looked around. The Reaper was sitting on the helipad, the house owner's personal glider looking smaller than it really was against the Reaper's left front leg.

Its distinctive shape was dark against the sky that now had turned from the murky red of daylight into a brilliant display of nebulae. Two of the smaller moons were up, their glowing disks swimming through thin clouds.

She felt its presence coming into focus, not nearly as strong as it normally was, but more than she had heard of it for weeks. A sense of a question, but it was too faint to tell exactly what it was. Something that wasn't quite uneasiness or worry.

But the exact meaning didn't really matter. She'd recover, and be able to talk to it again soon.

She didn't know whether it was asking her whether she was all right now, or whether they could finally go. It didn't matter either.

"Let's go," she told it as she approached its airlock.

She didn't know whether the answering impulse was relief or not, but she knew it was something positive.

 


	13. galaxy rise

 

_galaxyrise_

 

 

 

For once, the Reaper had ignored her tentative suggestion of a course back to Laeth altogether. It didn't respond to any questions about where they were going or why. The only sense she got from it was a familiar one, the same she felt when it called her up to the observation deck for some particular beautiful sight.

So, it wanted to show her something, and not tell her in advance what it was. That wasn't normal behaviour for it, but she was too glad to have her cybernetics functional again to be able to talk to it at all, so she let it go, this time. She was not in the mood to argue.

Safe and comfortable in her seat on the bridge, she tracked its progress on the screens towards the closest mass relay. Somnia was a secondary relay, with destinations somewhere deeper into Hierarchy space, and she couldn't imagine what it would want there. But the relay jump took them to another relay, a dark, inactive shape circling a lone blue star.

She regarded the relay on the screen. That wasn't a scenery that she had ever seen before, and it sure as hell wasn't anywhere within Hierarchy space. "All right, " she asked it, "where are we?"

Instead of answering, it turned its attention to the relay. She could sense it sending commands to it, although the precise meaning eluded her. Slightly annoyed, she called up the nav maps in order to determine their location on her own, but instead of complying, the screen folded into itself and vanished. Another tap on the controls couldn't recall it, either.

That wasn't some malfunction. It was blocking her access.

She considered that, then looked at the screen again. On closer examination, the relay it was displaying looked different than what she was used to. The basic shape was the same, but the design looked more angular, and somehow more coarse. Up close, she could see several sections where the hull was caved in or missing altogether, exposing the underlying structures. The whole relay looked old, damaged and abandoned.

She was surprised when whatever the Reaper did manage to coax the damaged relay into a flickering, unstable approximation of life. That didn't look safe to her, at all. "Are you certain?" she asked it as it started moving again, gliding into position for the jump.

Its only reply was a calming impulse. It didn't appear to be worried about the derelict state of the relay.

It was probably just her nerves, but the transition that should have been instantaneous seemed to her to take several long seconds. But then the screen showed the blackness of space again, the relay not in sight, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

Her worry returned when the screen shut off, quickly replaced by annoyance. She didn't like flying blind, and usually she didn't like surprises, mostly because they rarely ever were pleasant. She held out for a while, waiting for any further information from it, then was about to swallow her pride and ask it again when she felt the faint vibration in its hull that meant it was unfolding its legs. It was landing somewhere, apparently with no intention of telling her anything more.

Curiosity won out, and she was suited up and waiting at the airlock when she felt that give in its hull that indicated it was standing still.

The Marauder joined her, but she ignored it as she hurried through the airlock.

Planetside, she registered. Low light, dusk or dawn. The display of her env suit insisted that the environment was suited to support life of her kind, although the temperature was a bit below what she would have considered pleasant. There was sand under her boots, dark and grainy. She could hear the sounds of water, waves breaking against some shore. A beach, then.

Her HUD told her of no hazards in the atmosphere, and she lifted her hands up to her helmet, but hesitated. She disliked the helmet because it restricted her field of view, but she didn’t have all that much trust in the limited sensory equipment that came with the suit. 

The Reaper sent an impulse that she knew, a combination of go ahead/safe, tinged with impatience. With a shrug, she took the helmet off.

She winced. The air really was a bit cool.

To her surprise, the Reaper suddenly raised itself up to its ground configuration, stretched its legs and began to move. She retreated backwards quickly, partly out of surprise, partly because she still didn't like to be close when it moved its bulk on ground.

With it out of the way, she could see that they really were on a beach. The Reaper was walking towards the water, and then into it.

Varinnia was very certain that she wasn't going to do the same. But its odd behaviour was giving no clue what the purpose of all of this was. Or even where they were.

She looked up to the sky, automatically trying to find some familiar constellation, some point of reference, as useless as she knew this to be.

Her jaw dropped. It wasn't dusk or dawn, it was full night, and there were stars out. Lots of them. The shape they were arranged in was familiar, of course, but the angle of view was not. The galaxy, viewed from the outside.

She sat down heavily in the sand, unable to tear her gaze away from the night sky. It no longer mattered to her where they were, precisely. They were far, far away from home.

The view was simply incredible. The sky above was lit with millions upon millions of bright stars. She forgot the coolness of the air and the uncomfortable ground underneath her. Bands of stars, seemingly so close that they looked like a translucent cloth, with the closer and brighter stars thrown onto it like gems. She could make out nebulae, colours bleeding into one another, then fading against the dark background. And still there was some order to it, the spiral arms winding around each other towards the brightly blazing center. 

Her neck started hurting, and she lay back without thinking, catching her fringe on the sand and didn't care. The sky was like a piece of art, the work of a whimsical artist who had chosen the most durable media possible to create a lasting, shimmering image of beauty. But it wasn't a static display. Change was slow, but it was still happening. Time still affected the whole of it. Nothing lasted. A lifetime like hers was barely noticeable; probably not even that of a Reaper was enough to see much of a star's full life.

They were both small before this, unimportant, just a brief flicker of life before the cold of space won out, before the dark claimed it back. Nothing lasted, it was all just a matter of scale. Suns formed and died, a cycle of life all on their own, longer than theirs, but in the end just as fragile, just as finite. There was balance, a semblance of order among the arbitrariness. Nothing could last. Everything fell apart at some point, the remnants left to drift for a while until the conditions were right to condense, form and take life again. Nothing was ever lost. There was always hope. 

She wasn't aware that she was making any sound until the Reaper shifted its focus to her, and she became aware that she had been humming of a half-forgotten melody, a piece that long ago had been a part of the most important chant that was known on Hierarchy worlds. Taken out of that official hymn a few hundred years ago, it was now all but lost, only remembered on fringe worlds who preserved their own history. She didn't remember all of it, and stopped. It was just as well. She never had had any semblance of a singing voice.

She suppressed a smile. She hadn't thought it was bad enough to make even a Reaper stare. Fortunately it didn't ask, because she would have had a hard time explaining that.

But she felt it nudging against her mind, curious to see what it was that she saw, and maybe what it was that made her make odd sounds.

"All right." She performed the trick without thinking much about it, allowing it to link up in that low-level way that let it patch into her perception, literally see what she saw. She still had to concentrate to keep the image up behind her eyes, give it the raw data as well as the translation, but she had learned how to do that by now.

She smiled again as she felt that odd tug somewhere in the link that meant it was there and sharing the signals her nerves processed and transmitted.

_< Confusion. Colours bleeding into each other, merging. Overlapping forms without order>_

"Very different from what you see, then." It let go, and she felt that link fade. She felt very relaxed, and slightly curious. "What is it that you see?"

It replied in a string of symbols she couldn't interpret, then broke off.

"Can you just show me?" In theory, the connection could work two-way. She had wondered about it before, but always considered it too much of a risk. But it was so tempting, to try and see the view of the galaxy through the eyes of a Reaper. 

It was silent for long seconds, then she felt that unmistakable sensation of a low level link again. Slow, very careful, it built, leaving a signal that was gradually overlapping the image before her eyes. The colors drained away, replaced by values that were much more precise. The blurry band of stars sharpened, resolved into single components, each and every one of them clearly visible. The contrast was so sharp that she felt a headache begin behind her eyes.

She turned into the connection, following it back, like following a thread of silver twine back to where it was connected.

The image sharpened more, information creeping in that was somewhere else, but still present. Brightness. Spectra. Orbits. Everything moving.

Her mind reeled, but she dove deeper. _Show me._

The image unfolded into something abstract, a representation of more dimensions than her mind was designed to visualise. So much information, condensed, unfolding and spreading when she concentrated on it. It saw what was now, just as much as what had been and would be at a later point in time. Forecast and memory were just additional qualities, dimensions added to the graph. Even focussing onto only one small speck was dizzying, the small speck growing into an all-encompassing representation. It filled her mind, the vision from her own eyes long gone, and she reached for it.

It tried to give some sort of warning, but she only half understood and wouldn't have heeded even if she could have made sense of it.

Still a representation, filtered for her benefit. She wanted the real image. The other end of the silver thread was close, and she reached. The thread slid from her grasp, but she no longer needed it. She touched the other end of that communication channel, meshed in. And became lost.

Her perception split into too many channels to keep straight. There was the image of a turian, curled up on the sand, body convulsing from shock. Unimportant. There was the view of something moving over the ground, metal claws gouging the wet sand. And finally there was the full view of the galaxy, unfolded in uncountable smaller images in chrome and white, past and present and future, perception and knowledge and memory all merged into a comprehensive whole. The complexity was staggering, impossible to hold on to, but the pure mathematical beauty of it made her long blindly. The rules were complicated but present. It was all one system, everything in it part of the whole. Where she saw chaos, it saw harmony. Where she saw colours, it saw... _music_. Frequencies of light, interpreted as sound. To it, every star had its own sound, its own voice. The whole of it was a melody, infinitely complex. It could hear that wordless, alien song, and while it had no more meaning to it than the colours had to her, there was a sense of familiarity. Everything had its place and voice, everything belonged. She saw a display of distant, awe-inspiring beauty. The Reaper saw....home.

It was too much. She cried out as the vision teetered and fell, folding into itself as the darkness closed in.

 

 

 

 

She came to again with the feeling of smooth metal against her neck and a jolt running through her body. Without wanting to, she jerked up, almost smashing her face into the Marauder's chest in the process. Her neck itched. Stim patch.

Her head felt heavy, and a spell of dizziness made her question for a moment whether gravity had suddenly inverted. Like being drunk, she thought, and the absurdity made her want to laugh. All she managed was a hoarse, wheezing rattle.

The Marauder steadied her, and that was even funnier.

The Reaper was still in the water, one leg lifted in a way that felt extremely comical to her. It looked like it had stopped mid-motion, frozen in shock.

The symbol it sent was familiar, though.

_< status?>_

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said quickly. Strictly speaking, that wasn't true. There was a full-body trembling now that was probably some sort of nerve overload. Her cybernetics, not even fully recovered from the last shock, protested, which translated into a tingling sensation that was hot and cold and neither.

Sensible of it to question, but she didn't want to feel sensible. "Just a bit unsteady." She felt her mandibles splay. "Worth it, anyways."

It didn't reply even in faint images or just emotion, but even so she could tell that it was exasperated and considered her quite foolish.

It finally brought its leg down onto the water, splashing with the surf. 

She laughed. Maybe shock would set in a bit later, but for now she felt giddy. She meant what she had told it. Worth it.

 

 


	14. insanity

 

 

_insanity_

 

 

 

The hub station called Yilawen was, in Varinnia's not-so-humble opinion, not much better than a dump. The structures themselves were ancient and badly maintained. The docks were crowded, cramped, and station security seemed permanently absent.

She snorted. She'd never have thought that she'd ever come to miss Laeth. But this time, they'd be ferrying some cargo intended for Laeth itself, and going by the current speed of the station crew in loading the Reaper, they'd be here for some time.

The journey here had been a longer one, so she was itching to stretch her legs some. Unfortunately, Yilawen didn't have much in the way of scenery to do that in. She had been to much worse places, of course, but still she disliked the station almost at first sight.

She wove her way across the dock, narrowly avoiding a large transporter that wasn't even slowing down while navigating through the crowd. A group of several dock workers that seemed intoxicated and were hopefully off-duty were perched at a stack of crates just at the exit of her dock. One of them sneered at her as she passed them by, and he said something presumably uncomplimentary, but his speech was too slurred for her to make out the words. She ignored them.

A station plan outside the docks gave her a rough overview of the station. She found that the markets were close enough, and that was as good a destination as any. She might just as well stock up on her personal supplies while she waited.

Decisively, she set off in that direction.

 

 

The markets were a colourful, utter chaos, crowded and disordered, and still somehow the most inviting part she'd seen of the station so far. The noise level was impressive, a mix of uncountable voices, most of them arguing, screaming, haggling. She browsed the stalls and displays. There seemed to be no specific order to the place, but the random element appealed to her current mood.

One shop had a good selection of the rather plain outfits she favoured, so she spent some time choosing two sets in mute colours, browns and greys and dark greens. The shopkeeper, a tired-looking turian, rang up her purchases and took her instructions to have them delivered to her ship. He didn't try to chat or suggest anything to her in order to maybe make another sale, and that behaviour was unusual enough that she took a closer look. 

He was of middle age, average built, purple markings on his face that she couldn't place. There was nothing remarkable about his features otherwise, and it took her a few seconds to determine what had caught her attention in the first place. There wasn't even a hint of his cybernetics visible on what parts of his body were exposed. His eyes were pale, listless, but with a hint of another colour than cybernetic green. He didn't precisely look sick, drugged or hungover, but there was something in his stance and behavior that suggested a much lower level of alertness and awareness than was usual for any turian.

"So, " she asked him. "What's happening on the station, and the galaxy in general? Any news? I've been out of touch for a bit."

He fixed a rather vacant stare at her, squinted as if he had trouble making out her features. "Nothing new," he said. "The corruption is everywhere." His voice trailed off, and he played nervously with a simple pendant that was hanging around his neck.

Taken aback, she frowned. "Right." 

Now that she was alert to it, she saw others with similar symptoms. Not all of them were turian. There was a good number of aliens with the same listlessness and absentmindedness.

It intrigued her, enough to make her want to deliberately seek out a target. There was a small food court at the edge of the market, which seemed a good place to start. A turian female, a rather pretty young girl with a light brown face and white markings was selling some beverages, and even from a distance now the slow, deliberate way she moved was distinctive. She also wore a simple-looking pendant around her neck.

Varinnia went up to the stand and took a moment to regard the menu. According to what was written there, there were several sorts of different herbal tea laced with alcohol and fruit for sale. What she could smell of it didn't exactly inspire confidence, but she regarded it as a necessary evil. She handed over a few credits and was given a mug full of steaming liquid. A quick taste confirmed her suspicions, and she set it down hastily.

No other customers were claiming the vendor's attention for the moment, so she felt it was a good moment to talk to her. "Hey, " she said. She pointed at the pendant. "I couldn't help noticing that. What is it?"

"Hope," the girl replied, a genuine smile lighting her features. "A blessing. A symbol of the path that will lead to our salvation." The girl regarded her, then nodded to herself. "You look like you could use some hope, too."

"Doesn't everyone?" Varinnia asked rhetorically.

The girl seemed to take that as an affirmation. She dug around somewhere under the counter, then slid a simple white card at her. "Go. See for yourself."

Varinnia took the card. Two sets of numbers, meaning station coordinates. There was no further information on it. She looked at the girl, but she had already turned away again.

She turned the card over in her fingers, then shrugged. Well, why not? It was a puzzle, and she was curious. She threw her abandoned mug a quick glance, decided that ignoring it was the best way of handling it, and walked away back into the crowds of the marketplace.

 

 

 

The place the card had advertised turned out to be a small former storage area that someone had converted into some sort of meeting hall. There was no name or sign on the door, just that simple symbol written on the wall beside it. She studied it for a moment. Just two lines twisting around each other.

Well, she would see. The door was unlocked and opened for her.

She blinked. The inside was just the sort of small generic religious meeting place that she had come to expect: calm colours, a speaker's desk at the front, rows of seats for the audience. The surprising part was the number of different species in here. She identified what had to be regular attendants as well as people who just seemed to be curious, like herself. The place looked rather full already, but more people were coming in. She got out of their way and found a place leaning against the wall close to the exit.

The mood in the room was hushed, expectant, and she kept herself from shaking her head. She had seen a lot of different faiths, both inside Citadel space and outside of it. So far, none of this was in any way original.

Then the crowd fell silent as a turian in deceptively plain robes took his place at the desk. He looked of middle age to her, but well-kempt, his Palaven markings crisp and shiny.

Here we go, she thought with a trace of humour as he started to speak.

He had a pleasant voice, she had to give him that, with all the range in tones and subtones that a trained speaker was expected to have. He had passion, too, that went without saying.

As for the content, things in her opinion went downhill there very fast. His speech was full of passionate declarations of sin and absolution, punishment and returning to a state of purity. It was a bit jumbled to her mind, but she understood that the cybernetics that everyone had now were a sign of corruption, a punishment for unspecified but severe wrongdoings. There was some divine entity involved, but he only touched lightly on that. But any morally evolved being had to leave the marks of corruption behind, return to a state of grace which was linked to being clean of any cybernetic modifications, in order to live a worthwhile, spiritually satisfactory life. And there was help for this, of course. There was a way recently found by one of the higher-ups in the organisation to rid any organic's body from the unwanted, inherently evil cybernetics. Salvation was there for anyone who really wanted it.

She took what sounded to her more like a sales pitch than preaching for as long as she could stomach it, but her patience wore thin rather quickly. She felt vague disappointment and had to suppress a yawn. Preachers or various faiths and species were a common occurrence on any station. This wasn't even one of the more bizarre ones. In any case, she had seen and heard better. Not even the name they called their group seemed very impressive to her. The Fellowship of the True Path. She suppressed a snort. The name alone sounded preposterous to her.

 She turned away from the preacher, shaking her head as she carefully went back out through the door.

 

 

This was stupid. The cybernetics weren't something she would ever have chosen for herself, and she suspected most of the rest of the galaxy's populace thought much the same. But neither had that been some god-given punishment levered on the faithless and sinful. It was just technology. The human Spectre, Shepard, had done something with that alien weapon that no one had bothered to research, and it had changed all of them and ended the war.

She didn't know whether it really had been the only option, and there probably was no way to ever be certain. But how mattered very little now. They all had bigger problems than wondering about might-have-beens. They all were changed, and the cybernetics were part of them, deeply meshed so they couldn't be separated and removed. As hard as it seemed to be for some, the only option for continued survival was adapt, learn to live with the changes, and accept them. Whining about them or being bitter seemed pointless to her. It was how things were now. Adapt and move on.

It had to be a scam, anyway. The promise to remove the cybernetics and restore bodies to their former, 'pure' state, had to be a lie. It simply wasn't possible. She thought that if it had been, the Reapers with all their technology and knowledge would already have freed themselves of those unwanted parts. Also, some of the Council species were apt in that research as well, and if there had been a cure found, word would have gotten out. Varinnia doubted that a group of religious fanatics would succeed where those with more resources and scientific knowledge had failed.

No, she thought. It's the wrong way. The cooperation between them all might have been forced, but at least there was cooperation. She had little illusion that there would be an instant perfect world now that everyone could communicate with each other, because communication didn't equal understanding, and motivations and goals still were individual for everyone. But removing this connection would separate them all further than they had been before the change. Sometimes there was no way back.

But there would always be some who refused to believe that, and others who would believe in the words of anyone who promised what they needed, or thought they needed. That wouldn't change.

Well, everyone had the right to choose their own fate, she supposed. With a shrug, she turned herself back the way to the docks.

 

 

The corridors were more narrow, and a lot less crowded. Once she had to turn and find another way, because part of the docks was temporarily closed. She was about two bays away from the one the Reaper was docked at, passing a docker who was examining a wall display.

As she passed him, he turned. "Wait."

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "What?"

"You the one who came in with the Reaper?"

She regarded him briefly, registered a nondescript face, faded white markings, standard station uniform. Something in his stance made her feel wary. "Why?"

He flared his mandibles in a smile that didn't really reach his eyes. "If you are, you are in danger."

She turned around fully, eyes narrowed. "Of what?"

He pushed away from the wall. "That Reaper. It's in your head, isn't it?" He took a step closer. "It will be all right. There is a way to make it go away. There is help."

She snarled. He wasn't precisely menacing, but there was something that she didn't like about his manner. "I don't know what you're on, but you got it wrong. I don't need any help."

His expression was still friendly. "You do. You just don't know it." He held out a hand. "Come. I can show you."

She took a step back. "I don't think so."

He shook his head sadly. "Suit yourself." The docker turned back to his display and tapped a few menus, no longer looking at her. She watched him for a few seconds, then shrugged and turned away.

She didn't know the precise reason, but she still felt uneasy as she walked away, hearing him hum tunelessly at his display.

A pair of asari travellers came down the corridor heading her way, talking to each other. Varinnia politely kept to one side of the corridor to let them pass.

Again, some instinct warned her. As they passed her by, one of them brought up her arm in an arc, striking at her. Something glittered in her hand.

Varinnia didn't pause to see what exactly it was. She ducked, so the strike missed her, then kicked at the side of the closer one's knee. The blow connected, and the asari went down, face contorted in pain. Varinnia dodged a punch from the other, jumped clear. She regarded the two, confused. Those were not professionals, neither as soldiers nor violent criminals. The asari swung at her again, and this time she stood her ground, blocked the inefficient strike, then followed it up with a solid strike of the heel of her hand to the alien's chin.

The second asari went down, barely conscious, and the first one was still on the ground, clutching her leg. Neither looked like they were eager to continue the brawl, and she relaxed her stance.

"What the hell was that about?"

The first one looked up at her, opening her mouth to answer. Varinnia leaned a bit closer.

"Helping you." The docker’s voice was close to her ear, and reflex made her throw herself to the side, but she was too slow. Something heavy connected with the side of her head, pain exploding in dark blossoms behind her eyes. She hit the ground, the impact driving the air from her lungs. With a groan, she tried to right herself, but a kick to the side flipped her to her back. There was the irritating noise of some scanning device, the sound more high-pitched than it should be.

"Left hand." That voice belonged to one of the asari, and she sounded nervous.

A boot came down on her left wrist, pinning her hand. Tugging at her palm, a muffled curse. She blinked, tried to clear her blurry vision.

"It won't come loose."

Varinnia tried to make sense of the words around the pain in her head. Her hand. The comm link. She should-

"No time. Dig it out." The dock-hand again.

Sharp pain in her hand, a ripping sound, warm wetness running over her fingers. She gasped, tried to curl her claws, but there was white-hot pain in her palm, like holding a lead coin heated to melting temperature.

"There."

She turned her head to one side, blinked. Her vision cleared momentarily to see one of the asari holding that metal object again. Stunner, her mind supplied. She felt the cool touch of it against the side of her neck, then her vision blacked out.

 

 

 

She came to again slowly, aware of light on her face. Acrid smell of disinfectants in the air. Feeling of a foam pad underneath her. Sounds of monitoring equipment. Several voices, conversing softly, too low for her to make out. More voices in a murmured chorus of words she couldn’t make out.

She tried to lift her head and found she couldn't. Pressure against her forehead as she strained her neck to try again. She blinked. Restraints. Her arms and legs wouldn’t move, either. Fear rose from somewhere deep within her spine.

"What the hell?" She almost didn't recognise her own voice. Her tongue felt heavy, and her speech was slurred.

"Ah. You're awake." She could see part of the docker’s face, leaning over her. He had exchanged his worker’s clothes for some white uniform, the sort a medic would wear. His expression was kind. "The infection is advanced in you, but have no fear. We can stop it." 

"What infection?" she slurred.

"The alien tech that is growing through your body. It grows through your nervous system, your brain. It makes you susceptible to those creature's whispers." There was unfeigned sympathy in his voice. "It's not your fault." 

"I'm fine. Let me go."

"I'm sorry. I can't do that. You are not in your right mind."

She fought the restraints in vain. Maybe she hadn't agreed to receive the cybernetics in the first place, and she certainly didn't want the mindlink that went with it, but even less did she want to become only half a person, with nerve damage and, very likely, brain damage.

Whatever they had dosed her with had a numbing effect on her cybernetics. She was scared enough by now to try and reach for the Reaper through the ambient, but there was nothing to reach with. It was as if she had lost one of her primary senses, and that scared her even more. She hadn't been aware of how completely used she had become to that recently acquired ability. But without it, she wouldn't be able to talk to the Reaper again. It was difficult enough as it was now. She'd lose everything that she cared about. The freedom and independence that travelling on a Reaper gave. Going to the stars, wherever she chose. Talking to that alien creature, just for the hell of it. Having a place for herself, as strange as that place was.

She bared her teeth in a full-flared snarl and stared at the medic. "If I survive this and have enough neurons left for a single thought, that thought will be ripping your throat out."

The medic smiled and patted her shoulder. "You're delirious. You'll be fine soon."

She snarled and called him every name in the book, every epithet that she had ever learned through years of travelling the less reputable ports at the fringe of known space. Her voice ran out before her vocabulary did, her mind slowing down to a crawl. The tranqs must have kicked in. There was the murmur of voices, snatches of conversation. Sharp pain, then numbness as something drilled into her spine somewhere at the last neck vertebrae.

White bled in from the edge of her vision, just like it had been at the beginning when she'd learned to talk to the Reaper, only now it was nothing as harmless as that. The mix of chemicals in her veins was doing strange things to her perception. The voices were screams now, surprise and fear. There was crashing, the sound of heavy footsteps, shouts.

The medic who was just leaning over her looked up, and what she could see of his face registered utter surprise. Then his face went strangely blank. He let go of the cable he had been trying to fix to her, then seemed to freeze. Something moved at the edge of her vision, then a metal claw lashed towards the medic and hit him full in the face. She thought she could hear plates and bones snap as he was thrown backwards. She couldn't see where he landed, but she heard the crash. The Marauder paused for a moment, looking at her, then snapped the restraint around her forehead casually, tearing through the tough material like through paper. She turned her head and saw the crumpled figure of the medic among the wreckage of his machinery.

"Stay back, damn you!" That came from a wide-eyed turian wearing the yellow-and-black armour of station security.

The Marauder stepped back meekly, showing no further aggression.

More of the station security personnel were swarming around now, cursing and shouting to each other.

The first pushed past the motionless Marauder and looked down on her. "Are you all right?"

She tried to glare at him, but her blurry vision probably ruined the effect. "Cut me loose, damnit."

He was fumbling at the restraints, finally getting them off. She groaned and tried to sit up, then gave up again as a bout of nausea made the room spin.

"Easy. We got you." The security guard steadied her. She ignored him and lifted a hand to the back of her neck, groped until she found the foreign object, then yanked it out. It didn't hurt, but she felt sticky warmth down her neck. She didn't care. She only took a cursory look at the bloody tube of metal, then let it drop. The guard cursed. Another guard came up from the side, pressed something cool against her neck. She heard another call in for medical assistance on his comlink.

"Spirits. What the fuck was that all about?"

She didn't even try to answer, but she watched the crumpled form of the medic again. A guard was examining him. "That one's gone. Snapped his neck clean on impact."

Good riddance, she thought. The guard eased her down again, and she felt she was too tired to argue. "Take it easy, stay down. EMS will be in shortly." He peered at her. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Lunatic tried to fry my nervous system", she slurred. "Ranted something about purging out the corruption."

He cursed again, more under his breath now. The cybernetics in his own face flared briefly. "Crazy bastards." He looked at the Marauder. "We got it under control," he told it. "You can stand down."

It looked at him mutely, waiting.

"Thanks," Varinnia addressed it. "I'll be fine. You better go back."

It turned its head slightly as if considering, then retreated.

The guard breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Hope that will calm things down now." He shook his head. "I don't want to hear that sound again, ever."

"Sound?" She tried to focus on his face, but it was difficult.

"It screamed. You know that sound they make, when they attack? Close enough to that. And that wretched thing was just standing there. It didn't even look at us, just took off." He sounded spooked.

She closed her eyes. "It was trying to get your attention."

"It could just have said so." He lifted his head. "Med team's here. Rest easy, we'll take care of this mess."

 

 

 

It was a full day later that she made her way back to the Reaper, with bandages on her hand and neck and full of fury that felt like a weight in her stomach.

She had had just enough awkward formal excuses and explanations as she could take. A representative of station security had taken her account of things, then told her politely that they were in the middle of their investigation and would contact her in due time. He'd also implied that while they couldn't keep her from leaving the station, her cooperation in staying until the investigation was finished would be appreciated.

She had no intention at all to be cooperative in any way.

She reached the dock, still seething, then stopped as she noted the security guard leaning at the entrance to the bay where the Reaper was docked. She recognised him from before. He was very obviously waiting.

She snorted angrily, then approached him straight-on. "What do you want?" 

He shrugged. "Give you an update on the status of the investigation. I thought you'd be interested."

Varinnia tossed her head back angrily. "Yes, you could say that I have a personal interest. So what did you find out?"

The guard shrugged. "Our main suspect's dead. And with things already tense enough as is, the circumstances of his death aren't something we want to draw too much attention to."

She hissed. "Meaning?"

He shrugged again. "That higher up, they're going to bury this mess. Public opinion matters. If it gets out that that a Reaper killed a Hierarchy citizen..."

"That Reaper," she interrupted in a biting tone, "defended one organic against other organics."

His expression didn't change. "Yes, I know that it was defending you and probably saved your life. Personally, I'm glad that it did, because I don't know whether we'd have been quick enough. In my opinion, it should get a commendation. But not everyone will see it that way. And if the media spins it accordingly, we'll have a lot of trouble at our hands. It's difficult enough to keep the various anti-Reaper and anti-cybernetics groups from acting on what they are screaming for all the time. "

"So," she said. "There will be no further investigation on that bunch of religious nutcases."

He spread his hands in defeat. "We only found that one and two asari on scene."

She blinked. "There were more. A whole hell of a lot more." She growled. "The two asari won't talk?"

"Difficult, since they are dead as well. They resisted arrest. My men used stunners on them, but it looks like whatever they did to themselves to inactivate their cybernetics left them with nerve damage. ME said that their nerves were all but fried, same as the medic. The stun charges killed them."

She thought about that and kept silent.

"Anyway, we have no surviving attackers. The Fellowship has already issued a statement. They are horrified what was done in their name, and are quite insistent that none of the three ever was a member." His mandibles flicked in a cynical grin. "Three disturbed individuals who acted on their own and paid the price for it."

"Convenient," she said, not bothering to keep the anger out of her voice. "So. That's what passes for justice on Yilawen?" 

"No." he replied, and there was something tight and angry in his undertones. "This is politics, and it's the same everywhere."

"I see." She did. She should not have been surprised. "Well, I'm already behind on schedule anyway. I have better things to do than stay and participate in that farce."

"I can't blame you," he replied. "I think it's a good idea. Normally I'd have said anyone would have to be insane to try anything again, but since I've seen what they did to themselves, I'd say those rules don't really apply." His expression was sober. "You will be safer elsewhere. Your associations make you a target."

She snarled. "What about the next poor fool who catches their attention for some reason, and who doesn't happen to have a big alien machine watching out for them?" 

He sighed. "Best we can do is keep an eye on them. And if we catch them slipping, come down on them like they deserve."

She was tempted to ask what would happen if politics interfered again next time, but didn't. He knew that just as well. He seemed to be an honest enough cop. It wasn't his fault. "Thanks for the update."

He nodded. "Wish I could do more. Good luck."

"Thanks." She walked by him into the dock.

 


	15. truths

 

 

 

_truths_

 

 

 

Her hand and neck were aching fiercely when they finally left the station. She held out on the bridge until they were well away from the station, then went down to the medbay.

She could feel the Reaper's presence like a shadow at the back of her mind, as always, but it hadn't said anything since she'd come aboard.

Her left hand was almost useless. Those lunatics had done quite some damage. The doctor on call in the station's clinic had already predicted that she'd need additional surgery and some replacement parts to regain full mobility. He'd offered to at least start the process, but it would have meant another few days on that wretched station, and she had declined, and maybe not in the most polite words imaginable.

She'd only intended to grab a patch of painkillers, but when she searched the lockers for something appropriate, one of the auxiliary surgery stations lit up. She stood, considering, then remembered the miner on Sphene and his replacement parts. He had seemed none the worse for it, and the new bits had worked. It stood to reason that the Reaper knew what it was doing.

"Well. If you'd take a look." She ripped off the bandage, swore as it came loose with quite a bit of scab and wet blue attached, then swore some more when she got a good look at what was left of her palm. Shaking her head, she lowered herself into the seat and placed her hand onto the surgery station.

It was a rather common type of station, suitable for work on smaller areas, nothing more exciting than a cylindrical structure, with a circular pad in the middle and a ring of compartments around that held the set of specialised tool arms that came alive now, a gleaming array of mechanical arms in silver and white. She watched absently as a scanner passed over her hand, and another arm ending in a thin probe. The probe hovered over her wrist, then came down in a straight move and delivered a dash of anaesthetic that made her hand go numb almost instantly. She watched another slide over and secure her wrist to the pad. Something in that move nagged at her. She had seen equipment like that many times before, for medical, scientific or manufacturing purposes. This station here could have been ordered from any supplier in Council space. Even the colour scheme was familiar. It was a perfect copy of a standard machine, and certainly functional. It moved in a precise, but slow, deliberate manner. Almost as if it was uncomfortable.

She thought of the Marauder, looked at the too-normal surgery station, then swore savagely. The arms paused, as if it was trying to interpret her words, and failing.

Varinnia shook her head. "This is to keep me at ease, isn't it. It's functional, but it's not the interface you would use. It probably isn't what you used on that miner on Sphene, either." This was just like a badly fitting but cheerfully coloured glove over a clawed hand. She shuddered. "I think we can do away with that, if it's easier for you."

It didn't reply, but after a few seconds, most of the mechanical arms pulled back into their slots. A second ring around the central pad opened, the insides the same colour as the tubing she'd seen in the core, and the faint veins in the walls, a dark metallic green. A thin tendril unfurled from the ring, a thin sinuous thing without any visible joints that was a stark contrast to the strict, limited construction of the station. 

She suppressed a shudder when the tendril touched her wrist. It was neither noticeably warm nor cold, and the texture was smooth, but unlike either flesh or metal. It still reminded her far too much of a carnivorous plant, but the knee-jerk revulsion she had felt when she had seen one of them the first time was absent now. In a way, it looked precisely like what it was - neither organic nor metal, but an intricate mesh of both, and alive. It did something to her cybernetics, made them flare up briefly where the tendril touched, then shut down again.

Other tendrils joined in, and it would have been easier to look away, but she made herself watch it work. She couldn't precisely tell what it did. The tendrils changed surface and shape as needed, tips so fine she couldn't really see them, others broad enough to apply pressure on some section. But as far as she could see from the result, it was filling up the ugly wound, maybe using some replacement material, maybe forcing her own tissue to regenerate, or maybe both. A tendril reached away from the table and curled against her other hand. From her undamaged palm, a structure formed in an instinctive response from her own cybernetics.

So, it wanted to talk. She nodded, felt the tendril make contact.

It was different than the comm link that she had carried so far, and different than the one time she had tried this with the Marauder. There were no visual artefacts, just an odd sensation, like the feeling of someone watching over her shoulder. It wasn't the total immersion this had been at their first conversation.

 _< An image of the external comlink she had had before. A second image overlaid, a device similar in function, different in design. A green-metallic cube, smaller than the disk had been, not quite solid. It turned and fell into the palm of a hand similar to her own, and sunk in, disappearing. Invisible.>_

She shuddered. An implant. _What does it do?_

 _< The form of the cube appeared again, then morphed into a tiny, bright, slightly yellow module that she recognised instantly as a standard translator extension._> She had something very similar implanted under the lowest blade of her lateral fringe on the right side of her head.

A comm link/translator. _What else does it do?_

Blankness.

She didn't have to consider for very long. She needed some way to talk to it remotely, and she didn't believe that it would be anything harmful. If it had wanted to get any implants into her, it could have done so without asking. She also knew how effortless it could take over someone's body, like a platform. Maybe the mind, too, who could say? It had no need of deception like this.

_All right._

It broke connection, and she watched, blinking, as it fixed a layer of something that looked very similar to her natural skin over the wound in her palm. Another couple of tendrils wove around each other, tiny movements as if assembling an object from parts too tiny to see. A cube spun into existence between them, just like it had shown.

One of the tendrils picked the tiny die up and reached over, dropping it into her palm. It hit like a drop of water, dispersing on contact, sinking into replaced skin. Cybernetic pathways lit up, not the network that was usually there and that roughly mimicked nerve patterns. but a complex structure made up of geometrical patterns. It remained for an instant like a tattoo, then faded.

It released her hand and withdrew its tendrils into the outer ring of the device. The casing closed. The surgery station again looked very normal and plain.

Varinnia lifted her hand, wriggled the fingers experimentally. It didn't hurt. All there was was a vague feeling of numbness. But her dexterity seemed to be unimpaired.

"That is remarkable." she admitted.

_This repair had been simple. Once the code was known, restoring damaged sections or improving on them was just a matter of time and resources._

She flinched slightly. This was a lot clearer than its normal communication. It still wasn't words, precisely, but it somehow translated the concepts and emotion differently. It made her think that somehow it had spoken. 

"How did you come up with this?"

_The design was customised for this specific application and this specific user. There was going to be constant improvement._

"Learning. I see." She paused for a moment. "Will this show up on scans?"

_It is a merge of its own structures and hers. The probability of the underlying technology being recognisable to some entity unlike itself is low._

She nodded. Fair enough.

"There's another thing." She hesitated. "I... am grateful you got me out of there. But did you-" She shuddered. "You took them over. All three, didn't you?"

_The other outcomes were not acceptable._

Well, at least it was direct. "I didn't think you had that reach."

_The parameters had changed with all of their forms. It was possible to latch onto the structures they all had in common from a distance, and control those. It required energy, and damage was inevitable._

"Can you still influence someone's thoughts?"

_There were always methods to influence like reasoning and persuasion, but those were the same available to any other entity. Indoctrination by the vector of nanites would be rejected._

"Can any of you do that? Are you all the same in ability?"

_At first, there were variations, until the design was perfected. After that there was unity and equality within the different basic classes._

It made sense that even the Reapers evolved, until they decided they had reached their optimal design.

She considered that. "So there was specialisation? Different functions?"

_Function was defined by form and original species._

Something was off in its answer. But she could guess for herself. It was a smaller one, and hadn't been part of any of the main fighting forces. It had fought on Chesed, but they wouldn't have considered that colony in any way important. This Reaper was not primarily a battleship. It didn't have a common name to give, and its way of communicating was strange, so it hadn't been made for interacting with organics, and none of them had ever named it. It had worked together with that other Reaper well enough, in repairing the inactivated relay, but she thought that if it had been primarily an equivalent to an engineer, it would have volunteered for repair jobs, not supply running. It couldn't have been a transport, because its size and storage volume would not be optimised for that. That had simply been its own preference for being in space. But its former skill had to be something that didn't directly translate to anything in their current society. Or else, something that no longer was needed.

Her blood ran cold, and she was glad for a moment that she already was sitting down. She had that answer already, didn't she? She had watched it work on her wounded hand, and create a customised hybrid-technology implant.

"Spirits, " she breathed. "That's what you were, isn't it? Bioengineering, or whatever you called it. You helped build them."

There was no reply from it, which was answer enough. She didn't know how to ask it, but she had to. "Did you know what you were doing?" Are you sorry for it? - she didn't dare ask.

_At the time, there had been no doubt about the actions taken._

"How could you?"

_Creation was a painful process. The pain was inevitable. The transformation was necessary to preserve the unique qualities before they were lost due to carelessness, to chance. Life transformed this way endured. Every one of them knew this, for every one of them held the full memories of their predecessor species. Every one of them remembered being transformed._

She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know, but couldn't stop thinking that through. This one’s function didn't relate to its origin species. She remembered the brief glimpse she had had of its memory of those creatures, large shapes moving through space. She wasn't sure whether the creatures that it took its memory from even had known any form of technology. It was much more likely that they had been harvested for their innate abilities or their knowledge of space, not any technology. Neither did its proficiency in controlling organics fit in with a purely functional-oriented design. It did, however, fit in with an early prototype.

She had seen the differences in hull design between this Reaper and the one that called itself Lament. She just hadn't thought about them far enough. 

_The second cycle._

She blinked. She hadn't even asked the question. "Do you now read thoughts too?"

_Interpreting random impulses from an organic brain is not a useful endeavour. However, reactions can be estimated and probabilities calculated._

Well, that was at least some relief. Not that things weren't bad enough already. There was no such thing as a harmless Reaper. This one seemed peaceful, and quiet. And it was older than she could really imagine and had done things she didn't even want to think about. She had thought it had just been one of the fighters. Bad enough, but in the end, a soldier was something she at least could relate to. This was infinitely worse.

She couldn't think about it. Not here. Not now.

No such thing as a harmless Reaper, she repeated to herself. She should have understood that when it had done its control trick on her. She had been warned. But she had convinced herself otherwise, had made herself not think about it. It had been easy. Talking in images and snatches of emotion, there had been no way to ask the hard questions. And now that she could... 

Now that she could, there was nothing she wanted to ask, or rather, hear the answers to. Nothing at all.

Dreams, she thought. Impulses, not her own. She shook her head, as if to dislodge the thought, but it was stuck in too deep. It was influencing her after all, wasn’t it? Had to. She had to get some distance. Clear her mind. Think.

"Can you set us on the fastest route back to Laeth?"

It didn't reply, but she knew that it was doing just that. She shouldn't been able to tell when it adjusted its course, but she could, knew it as certain as a shift in balance in her own body. She shuddered. Too close. Far, far too close. When had that happened? And how far had it gone?

She stumbled out of the medbay, back to her own quarters. She wasn't afraid. It had just saved her, with a cool, practical efficiency. It wanted her alive. She didn't dare ask for what.

 

 

 

It never tried to talk to her. Its presence was subdued, distant, but it was as efficient as ever. She didn't know what shortcut it took, but it got them back to Laeth in less than a full day, instead of the four she would have expected it to take.

It was just as well. She didn't bother to report in to command. She just got out of the airlock the moment that it was possible and walked out on the dock, without a look back, without an explanation. She needed distance. She needed to think and really didn’t want to.

Maybe now was an excellent time to get really, really drunk.

 

 


	16. timeout

 

 

_timeout_

 

 

There was no background noise of anything in her head now. The blaring racket that passed for music in this hole in the wall bar near the docks took care of that. Well, that and whatever that sky-blue stuff with a bite like a rabid varren and an aftertaste like paint stripper really was. She hadn't asked. Sometimes it was better not to know, and all she needed to know was whether it worked as advertised. Oblivion. Not thinking. That seemed to be a good idea.

She was still angry, and felt betrayed, the emotion churning in her stomach, etched in like with acid. It didn't feel like that anger would let go anytime soon. Maybe with enough of that blue stuff, she'd at least forget the reason for it.

She tossed back another shot, then slammed the glass down and glared at the bartender until he refilled it. At least he kept his mouth shut. He had tried to ask, but by now he knew she wasn't looking for conversation or any faked sympathy.

She stared down at the glass, morosely. Not working as well as it should. Vision was getting fuzzy, but she was still thinking and didn't want to.

Someone was sliding up into the stool next to her, and she growled instinctively. Not looking for company, so stay the hell away.

"So what's the matter? Trouble in paradise?"

She hissed before she could check herself. She knew the voice, unfortunately. Head of engineering. Lanril. Friend. On that basis, didn't, maybe, deserve a fist to the face on principle. Too bad.

"Go away. 'm busy."

"I can see that." Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him peering at the glass, then flicking his mandibles in distaste. "Does that taste as bad as it smells?"

"Worse."

"Is it working?"

"Not yet."

He snickered, and she seriously considered taking a swing at him. Didn't deserve it, she reminded herself. Maybe.

She turned her head and regarded him, or at least tried to. His face looked a bit blurry.

He sighed, and signalled to the bartender. With a drink of his own in front of him, he seemed to feel set up enough. His expression was patient. "What's really wrong?"

She hissed again, although part of her wanted to just turn away and curl up upon herself. "Nothing. I just need a break, understand?"

She stared down at her glass again. "I have enough of the noise, of hearing other people."

He didn't point out that being in a noisy, cramped bar probably wasn't the way to go about it. It wasn't that kind of noise she meant.

"What has it done?" There was only genuine interest in his voice.

She snarled again, a denial on the tip of her tongue, but decided not to bother. "Nothing." It hadn't. Not yet. Or it had, but nothing that matched what it was. Damned thing. Better concentrate on what she could tell him. "Some idiots just tried to drill a hole in my head and burn out my cybernetics. They think that's the problem with us all. That what makes us want to talk to demons. Complete nutcases." She stared at her glass. "But here's a thought. What if they are right after all?"

He gave a rude noise, took a cautious sip from his own glass, then set it down with a shudder. "That's it. If you are hell-bent on killing off your brain cells, we can find something better than this toxic waste. Come on. I want to hear the whole story." He got to his feet, tossed a few credits on the counter and looked at her. "Well?"

She didn't know why she even considered obeying. "Not going back to the dock. Or that damned guest quarters."

"No," he said. "There is an alternative."

She shrugged, then hung her head in defeat. What the hell. He wasn't going away, and she had nothing better to do anyway.

 

 

Technically, it wasn't quite the dock, but a small room one door away from his office. It had maybe been a storage room once, but he or one of his predecessors had thrown in a couple of lockers, a table and some mismatched chairs, a cold box separate from the public one in the anteroom and a sleeping bag. A place to catch an hour or two of sleep in case of emergencies.

Unfortunately the walk here had at least somewhat woken her up again.

She sunk into one of the uncomfortable chairs and regarded him curiously. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? A life, maybe?"

"Not really." His voice was far too laid-back. He dropped into the chair opposite her, leaned his elbows on the table, and regarded her with the same expression he had when contemplating some complex technical problem. "Now. What's eating you?"

"I already said some crazies tried to fry my brain, didn't I?" That was the easy one. No problem admitting that.

"Tell me."

She shook her head. "'I’m not really drunk enough for that."

He laughed, and read it as a request, which it hadn't been. She thought. "There is a cure for that."

He reached over to the cold box, picked out a bottle and set it onto the table. Two glasses followed from some hidden compartment. It was only when he poured the first glass that she realised why the shape of the bottle had been vaguely familiar.

She regarded the amber, glowing liquid in the glass with a mixture of longing and unease, then tried to sneak a look at the bottle's label.

He misunderstood and held it out to her to see. "Wine from Tenebrae. An acquired taste, maybe, but give it a try."

The label said it was four years old, so it couldn't have been part of the shipment she'd taken back from there. Sometimes coincidence was just that. She nodded her thanks, then took a cautious sip.

It was heavy, golden on her tongue, with an aftertaste that was both sweet and bitter. Just like dreams, or memories. Spirits. It tasted like home.

Just like that, the rage and betrayal she'd felt like molten lead turned cold, heavy, inert. Still hard to breathe around it, but easier.

And really, what did it matter? That story about Yilawen would come out at least as rumours as soon as Imvaris got at least a note of the incident. Yilawen's commander would have to report something, maybe not the whole truth, but since there had been a delay in her schedule and treatment in the hospital there, it would go to file in some way or another. 

By the time she was through with the story, the bottle was empty, and since he still looked rather sober, most of it must have gone to her.

"Hell of a thing," he said. "Lucky that your ship caught up on it."

He still called it her ship, like a joke between them. She was so used to it that normally, she found it mildly amusing. Now, she tried not to wince, but she wasn't sure she succeeded. "Yes. Lucky."

He left it at that, and she listened to him recounting a similar story, something that had been rumours but seemed a lot more credible now.

"Crazy galaxy," she muttered. "But maybe that's what we all are. Completely, irredeemably crazy."

He laughed. She didn't join in.

"Just goes to show. You never know anyone, not really."

He sighed. "True, I suppose. And this is still about the Reaper, isn't it?"

She gave up. "What is true?" she asked him. "What you know someone to be or what you think they are based on what they do?"

He smiled, a strange, fleeting expression. "Oh, you start out with the easy ones, don't you. Both, I think. But I think what you mean is not what you know it is now, but what it has been."

She lifted her head, warily. "Do you know what it has been?"

He shrugged. "Not different than the others of its kind, I would think. I doubt that there has ever been one that was just a neutral bystander."

And he was right, of course. She should have known. No. She had known. But damn it all. It hadn't even bothered to deny or mitigate. It hadn't made any explanation, or excuse. She hadn't intended to tell him or anyone, for that matter, but it suddenly was important that he understood the real horror of it. "Much worse. It was one of those that built the others."

He shrugged, unsurprised, as if it made not much difference, and for a moment she wanted to hit him for that. How could he not see that? There was a difference. She was sure of it. She shuddered, then unthinkingly said it. "It isn't even sorry."

"Oh?" He didn't sound judgemental, only thoughtful. "Is that what it said?"

She growled, but it was a weak sound. "No. It hasn't said anything."

"What are you going to do? Will you leave, get reassigned?"

"I don't know." She really didn't. She just knew that she didn't want to get back aboard. Couldn't go back.

"Hm." He paused. "You should take some time off. You could claim some medical leave. You were, after all, assaulted and wounded in the line of duty. Technically you're not really fit for duty. Take that time, figure out where you want to go."

"Can't," she said automatically. "We have a mission lined up already. Deploy comm beacons and amplifiers. Should take three to four weeks."

"So?" He shrugged. "Let Imvaris find a temporary replacement. I think she's been itching to try that anyway."

She considered. She wasn't sure whether she could risk anyone else walking onto that ship, not sure she could do anything about it, or even should. "Maybe." If she survived what hangover she would have from this.

 

 

 

She spent what was left of the night on the sleeping bag in the engineer's hideout. The hangover that she had on awakening was fierce enough to make her feel as bad-tempered as it got. Lanril was gone, probably on his morning shift already.

She made her way back to her temporary quarters, hating the galaxy in general with every step she had to take.

The sound of her omnitool made her almost throw the damned thing against the next wall, but she held herself together enough to at least read the message. Maybe it had been Lanril's suggestion, or Imvaris' own idea, but she was informed that she was on medical leave, starting immediately, and that the replacement pilot would stop by later that morning for a quick briefing.

She cursed, but figured it would mean too much paperwork if she strangled the replacement out of sheer bad mood, so she found some painkillers and got some rest.

 

 

 

Her mood hadn't improved significantly when the door chime announced a visitor. The replacement, as it turned out, was a bright-eyed young female in Laeth uniform and proud purple markings. Varinnia suppressed a snort. Very subtle, Imvaris.

She asked her in merely on the assumption that this was inevitable, so it was better to get it over with as fast as possible. But, as she discovered immediately, there was very little feedback required from her. The young pilot, who introduced herself as Issinia Skelian, was enthusiastic, excited about the assignment and very insistent on sharing that feeling. Just listening to her talk made Varinnia tired.

"You'll figure it out soon enough," she finally told the bubbling, happy pilot as she manoeuvred her back to the door. "Good luck. Let me know how it turned out."

She wasn't sure whether the cheerful talking stopped when she shut the door in her face, but at least the sound of it was cut off.

So. She had time to herself, then. She hadn't even packed any of her personal belongings when she'd left the Reaper, but that was hardly the problem. Her quarters here on the station were almost empty of anything personal. That just meant there was room for improvement. It was a good time to do some shopping anyway.

She vaguely wondered whether the Reaper would say anything about being teamed up with a replacement, but of course she didn't think much about it. And it was really only coincidence that she was at one of the viewports to the outside and that viewport happened to face the right direction to see it leave. It had to be coincidence, because she couldn't have known when it was going to depart, or what direction. She had never seen it fly away before. Now that she did, she had to agree with what Alavus had said about it. The design might be strange, but it sure was graceful.

She turned away, and told herself that she felt nothing.

 

 


	17. recalibration

 

 

 

_recalibration_

 

 

 

Maybe the enforced downtime was doing her good. Her anger had calmed down, and in all fairness she had to admit that however uneasy she was with what its function had been, it had never tried to deceive her. It hadn't hidden its abilities or skills. If she had never made the connection, then that was due to not having asked the right questions. She hadn't wanted to know. But to the best of her knowledge, it had at no point lied to her.

She longed to talk to the only other liaison to a Reaper that she ever come into direct contact with again, or at least send a message. There were so many questions she had. She really wondered what his solution was, what sort of balance he had struck with that Reaper whose mind was like a bottomless sea.

She went as far as to actually try and track them down, but while she could confirm that the Reaper that called itself Lament and the turian that went with it were somewhere on or close to Palaven, their precise location seemed impossible to determine. She could only deduce from that that they were involved in some other project there, and finding out any details about it probably required a lot more connections and clearance than she had. It didn't matter anyway. Presumably, they both were busy, and even if she could have reached Zekiel, she doubted that he could have been of much practical help. If there was one thing she had learned by now, it was that with their newfound individually, Reapers developed individually, too. There was no common procedure, no truths that held for all of them. Whatever way Zekiel had or had not found, it very likely wouldn't be applicable to her.

He had been right. There were no rules on this, they were on their own in uncharted regions.

In the end, she didn't send a message.

But the rest of his words continued to haunt her. Their minds are so large, something spills over.

Maybe something did. But all she knew was that even after weeks after the Reaper's departure, her dreams were of stars in the cool void of space, and she was starting to feel just as restless and trapped as she had on Chesed. She wasn't made for station or colony life. The Reaper had nothing to do with that. The worst she could assume was that it amplified the restlessness, because it felt the same.

 

 

She had enough time at her hands to do some personal research, a deeper look into the problems Varak had hinted at back when she had first signed on for this. He had told her the truth, at least as much as he knew it. She was almost disappointed; it would have fit in with a standard scare tactic. There was a higher than average mortality rate for organics who closely associated with Reapers, and it didn't seem to be linkable to species. There was no concrete evidence, but she remembered that brief contact with that other Reaper well enough. It had just been curious, or maybe that had been its version of a polite greeting, but the glimpse of that immense, fathomless ocean that was the closest approximation her own mind could come up with to describe it had been enough. The sea might not have any harmful intentions at all, but one could still drown in there. That was just its nature.

There were no harmless Reapers. There was a risk, and she fully intended to ask it about this, once she got the chance.

If she got the chance. There was the distinct possibility that it was quite satisfied with the replacement pilot. She had walked away from it without any further explanation. It might already have adjusted to the new situation.

She pushed that thought away. There was nothing she could do about it if it had. All she could do was make sure that this time she knew enough about the risks. No more unpleasant surprises.

 

 

 

She didn't really want to think any closer about its ability to take control of another living being's form, but she felt she had to. It was just another aspect of its being, and closing her eyes to it had contributed to land her in the situation she was in now. She was not going to make this mistake again.

It meant calling in a few favours and providing some bribes, but she finally managed to get her hands on the ME's report on the three Church members who had attacked her.

The dispassionate description of the injuries sustained made her hide crawl. She still found it hard to spare any shred of pity, but she only now realised how close a call it had really been for her. If the Reaper had been any less careful, she would have warranted a report just like that.

However, reading those reports made her remember another puzzle, too. It took less effort and only minor bribery to get her hands on the reports the station's ME had filed on the crew of the salarian freighter she and the Reaper had retrieved from the Sea of Ghosts. It was easy to find, now that she knew what she was looking for.

The implications were frightening. And yet, there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t even share that suspicion with anyone. She had no proof, just clues, and a gut feeling. If she was wrong, it could do a lot of damage to the already strained peace between Reapers and organics. She had had time to watch more of the news, lately. There was also enough unrest among just the organics, and not in the least in her own species. Colonies had split away from the Hierarchy in protest, there was open and vocal disagreement with the course of official politics from every direction, and some unnamed individuals who opposed any cooperation with the Reapers had even resorted to violence and struck at some high-profile Hierarchy targets. It had been just empty gestures, so far there had only been damage to property, but there was always the threat that it would escalate. Any rumours about Reaper wrongdoings might set this off into something large and serious. If anyone even believed her, of course.

On the other hand, if she was right...things were even worse.

This was yet another thing she would have to talk to the Reaper about.

 

 

 

She felt as healthy again as it got, and just as restless. Technically, she was back on duty, but there was not much for her to do.

She missed flying and most decidedly did not remember the one time the Reaper had allowed her to really fly it. It had probably been tired of her complaining when they were navigating an asteroid field and she had insisted that she could have found a better way through the field than the Reaper. Rather than arguing, it had ceded all control to her and turned off its shields for good measure. She had found the hard way that the controls on the bridge weren’t just for show. As a ship, the Reaper handled beautifully. There had been a learning curve, of course, and every hit on its hull was very carefully not commented upon at all, which of course had been worse than any complaint it could have made. But she had learned and guided the Reaper past the many obstacles. She had been at the end of her strength when they had cleared the field and it had resumed control again, and happy beyond words.

She missed being in space.

The only time that she left the station was a test run of one of the station's small shuttles, just once through the system and back. Officially, it was to test the calibration of the shuttle's drive, which was reported to be flaky. Any of the engineers could have done that, but she suspected Lanril was tired of seeing her being bored, so he had her do it.

It didn't help much. She was out on her own, but the noises of the small shuttle were all annoying, and it felt clumsy and unwieldy on manual. There was nothing wrong with it. It even had a VI that was happy to talk. She turned it off in the first few minutes. She had returned the shuttle, and not asked for a repeat loan.

The station was simply too crowded, too loud. She tried to adapt and fit in, harder than she had ever tried before. She kept Lanril company when he was off-duty, spent some time with the other pilots that came in and went out again. She certainly wasn’t lonely. Every day, there were conversations with people who spoke in proper words, not images and cryptic emotions. It was not enough.

She knew when it came back, just as she had known when it had left, and it was nothing as straightforward as hearing its presence through the ambient link. She debated with herself what to tell it, what to say. There was still the possibility that it had found a better match to its purposes in the young pilot. She refused to consider how that possibility made her feel.

She was in the waiting area in the engineering offices when Skelian managed to track her down.

Varinnia regarded the young pilot with interest. She looked tired, although she was making an effort not to show it. But the boundless energy that she had displayed at their last meeting was nowhere to be seen.

"So, how did it go?"

The pilot stared at her for a moment, then threw herself into one of the padded seats, shoulders slumping forward in exhaustion. "That was an interesting experience. It's very competent, but very difficult to understand."

Varinnia took a seat as well, giving her an interested look. "What do you mean?"

"It is confusing to link to it. All those images. It's so hard to understand what it is trying to say. And that ship design..." She shook her head.

That really got her interest. "What about it?"

"I somehow thought there would be more accessible space, that there'd be more levels, not only just two."

Varinnia kept her face straight and gave a noncommittal sound. Something that she couldn’t name and that had been tense and rigid in her relaxed.

"I mean, it makes sense, it doesn't need a bridge or an observation deck or viewports, but it can be disturbing. Only it's strange, not knowing where you are, save for that terminal in that control station. Not having a way to, you know." Skelian waved a hand. "Control or even know where it is going. It's like being on a remote-controlled freighter."

"They were not designed for crew," she replied diplomatically, doing her best as her mandibles tried to splay into a truly wide grin. "Did you figure out how to talk to it?"

The pilot shrugged. "It's so hard to talk to. It's so large. Alien mind."

Varinnia nodded sympathetically.

"Really. I don't regret volunteering, but I honestly don't see how you stand it." She shook her head. "It feels very lonely, out there on that empty ship."

Varinnia bit her tongue. "One gets used to anything." She patted the pilot's shoulder in a consoling way. "I better go talk to it, then."

 

 

 

She was proud that she kept the straight face until she stood in front of the Reaper's airlock. Leaning with one hand against its hull, she tried to come up with anything to say, and failed. There was nothing she could say. She wasn’t sorry for having taken a timeout, and she couldn’t really put into words what had disturbed her so badly, and was disturbing her still.

The Reaper didn't say anything comprehensible, but there was a formless impulse from it that was very clearly a tentative welcome. It hadn't even considered a replacement, its actions had made that clear enough.

Despite everything, that made her smile. She shook her head, no longer trying to hide her wide grin as she thought of Skelian again. "You kept her restricted to the lower levels."

 _There had been no need for any further access._

"Really."

She could have remained on the outside, but they had to talk, and she didn't appreciate curious dock personnel.

There were no differences to the interior as far as she could see. Whatever it had done to wall off its upper sections, it had already been reverted.

It didn't really matter where she talked to it, but she found herself walking straight into the core. That place was still disturbing, but somehow, it also felt familiar. It was a reminder, of what it really was as opposed to what she constantly tried to think it was.

She looked at the slowly pulsing plasma part and again thought about what to say.

"What is it that you want, really want?" she finally asked.

It replied again in that complex image that had been its reply to that question before, a myriad of distant stars. _Space, quiet, distance. Freedom._ After a pause, there was more. _< A stylised version of her facial markings. Company.>_

Hardly the goals of a genocidal doomsday machine. But it had already answered that one before, too. None of them was what they once had been.

She closed her eyes briefly. She had to learn to see it without any preconceptions.

She couldn't go by what it had been, that must not matter. She couldn't ask it outright whether it had regrets, but it had been evasive about the whole matter. It hadn’t lied to reassure her or make her feel better either. Maybe it didn't know itself. Or it just didn't want to discuss it yet. She suspected she’d find the truth about it, eventually.

What did have to matter was what it was now, and what it would do.

She opened her eyes again and looked at the glowing plasma sphere. "There is something else. You remember the stranded freighter in the Sea of Ghosts."

A wordless impulse of agreement.

"What do you think happened to the crew?"

It was silent for a moment.

_There had not been evidence to say for certain._

"Oh, don't do that. So you aren’t absolutely certain. But if I can guess, so can you." She snorted. "I read the ME's report on those fanatics. He thinks the nerve damage is from that they did to themselves. But they were unable to suppress the cybernetics completely, or you wouldn't have been able to affect them that way. You told me yourself that if you do that you have to release that person slowly, or burn them out. That's what happened to these three."

_There had not been time for any other course of action._

She ignored that. "The ship's crew had the same damage. Except the children, and I like the implications of that even less."

It didn't reply, and she sighed. It certainly was good at keeping quiet if it wanted to. This time, she couldn’t let it. "That was another Reaper. It was searching for something, something it could only get from the adults. It wasn't interested in the children. It snapped the adults up, either all at the same time or very quickly one after another. When it was done, it just dropped them and let the backlash kill them. It made a few of them shut down the ship systems, so that there would be no evidence."

The silence was palpable.

"Do you know why, and which one?"

_There had not been enough evidence for either. The traces left were not distinctive enough, and there were no individual patterns left in the process._

"If you had to take a guess for the reason?"

 _The change had given them restlessness and independence and taken away purpose and the connection they had shared. For most, a curiosity about the organics had appeared. Some have found a connection to individuals not of their own configuration. This behaviour is not understandable to all. If requested, data might be shared or withheld. Independant research was a possible solution._

"That's like trying to understand my shawl as a work of art by unraveling it and examining the thread."

_With the loss of the original connection came the loss of a unified point of view. Understanding had become elusive. Different venues were pursued._

She lifted her head. "You understand the difference." At least she really, really hoped so.

_There were different methods of research, and different levels of understanding._

She chose not to analyse that further. "Can we find out which one did that?"

_The probability of this was low, unless it again left evidence of its actions._

She shivered. "So we keep an eye out for that." And hope it has found its answer and doesn't ever surface again.

"Last question," she told it. "I know there are other Reapers who are teamed up with one or more organics. I have seen the statistics, and it seems to me that those organics tend to develop odd habits and sometimes die off under odd circumstances. Can you tell me anything about that?"

_The unity between them had been dissolved, and each one was evolving differently. There was no data on the long-time consequences of association with organics. There was the possibility that some units failed to exercise the required caution. Compatibility was key. There were different degrees of compatibility._

She swallowed. "What about me?"

_There was a high compatibility factor._

"That's not what I was asking."

 _Some perceived changes were merely adaptations, caused by natural processes rather than external influence. Some changes were mutual._

She managed not to flinch as one of the tendrils formed and reached towards her. It rested against her unmodified hand for a moment, making her cybernetics flicker once. She wasn't quite sure what it was doing, but it was entirely possible that it was trying to get a reading, so she didn't pull away. Its touch was still unnerving, unlike flesh, and unlike any other material she'd ever felt.

The tendril dropped away and disappeared.

 _She was safe._

She blinked twice, wondering how it could be that sure. "Right," she said, cautiously. "If you say so." She hoped it was right. 

It was silent for a while.

_She had not yet communicated whether she was going to continue their journey._

In the end, there was not much question about it. This held risks she still didn’t quite understand. But the alternative had already proven to be unbearable.

“Yes.”

_< Relief. A sense of right. Calm>_

She had to smile. That didn’t make it right. But better.

 


	18. changes

 

 

_changes_

 

 

The docks on Laeth were relatively quiet again for the night cycle. None of the personnel seemed to be in any special hurry, and Varinnia found it strangely relaxing to just sit on a stack of cargo crates - agricultural equipment intended for Virideen if the labels were correct - , watch both the Reaper and the other ship sharing this space with it being loaded, and listen to Lanril's seemingly unending reservoir of stories about life, the universe and everything else. And, of course, steal some of the candy from the foil packet he was almost leaning on with his elbow, when he wasn't looking.

The contrast was interesting, and probably symbolic, she mused, the black metallic bulk of the Reaper on one side, the gleaming blue, angular hull of that Hierarchy vessel on the other.

"What is that ship, anyway?" she asked him, nodding her head at the Hierarchy ship.

He turned his head to look at it. "The Eminus. Came in straight from Palaven. Interesting."

"How so?" She took the opportunity to snag a sugary cube striped in red and white from the packet while he was distracted. He pretended not to notice and instead snagged one piece for himself. She had long ago ceased to wonder how much of that stuff he could eat, and where he got his seemingly endless supplies in the first place.

"Because I haven't heard yet why they are here." He sounded almost insulted. Then again, he usually always knew what was going on on the station. It was probably a matter of pride.

"What's next for you?" he asked, "Shipping replacement parts out to Arakis?"

Varinnia shook her head. "No, change of plans. Turned out they can't handle it on their own and need a team of tech specialists in addition to the parts, so they had me switch with Navris." She grimaced, mandibles fluttering. "Which means we'll be repairing a broken-down com relay."

Lanril laughed. "That sounds very exciting."

"That's what I thought," she grumbled.

He suddenly lifted his head, and his expression turned annoyed. "Oh, what has gone wrong now?"

She followed his gaze. One of the automated cargo vehicles had just dropped off a stack of huge, heavy-looking containers in front of the Reaper's cargo hatch. Then it retreated again, moving across the dock a lot less smoothly than it should.

She sighed. "Seems the change in plans hasn't been communicated. Those are not the replacement parts for that damned com relay."

Lanril tracked the vehicle's progress with his eyes, mandibles twitching. "Its load was too heavy," he stated, in a tone that did not bode well for whoever was responsible. He tended to take damage to the station and its equipment rather personal, and carelessness that resulted in damage to either was a sure-fire way to trigger what temper he had.

Grumbling under his breath, he activated his omnitool, and she could see him looking through records. She suppressed a grin. She was quite certain that when Lanril found out who had mangled the transporter, that person would be put to repairing it again, and most likely under the most unpleasant circumstances Lanril could come up with.

He hissed. "And that can't be right either. It was programmed with a maintenance code. Someone is a lazy bastard who can't be bothered to remember their access code. I'll have their hides for this. And their superior’s hide, for good measure." With a growl, he slipped off his crate. "Let's see who checked the containers out."

Varinnia watched him stalk off, along the dock towards the stack of containers. She wasn't really bothered by the glitch in logistics, but it was entertaining to see Lanril in full righteous anger.

It was odd, though. That sort of sloppiness was uncommon on Laeth. Suddenly uncomfortable, she got up, too, starting slowly into Lanril's direction.

She felt the presence of the Reaper come into focus, as if it was waking up, or just starting to pay attention. She ignored its wordless, questioning impulse in favour of the stack of containers. Something was strange with that picture. She narrowed her eyes. One of the containers was slightly different, the markings close but not identical to the others. The colour was not quite right.

Lanril was scanning one of them after another, his stance indicating that he was now seriously angry.

She called his name, intending to have him check the one container that looked different, at least from her perspective, but the Reaper was quicker. She winced as there was a single image in her head, one of the containers. _< Disbelief, then fury at their interference. A signal being sent.>_

The vision was gone immediately, but she knew the Reaper must have picked that up from the ambient, from someone around here, a quick, unguarded thought that had slipped through. It was more than enough to let her know that they were in trouble.

She tried to scream a warning, but Lanril was already on to it, so he had to have heard the Reaper's transmission, too. He was typing into his omnitool at a furious pace.

An alert sounded, and she could see that what personnel happened to be on the dock proceeded to immediately drop whatever they were doing and move out.

Lanril was still working his omnitool, and she thought that she knew what he was trying to do when she saw one of the cargo cranes overhead move. He managed to snag the marked crate, drag it away from the cargo hatch and towards the far end of the dock.

She cursed and started to move in that direction, but the Marauder was suddenly beside her, its claws like metal bands around her wrist. "Let me go," she snarled, then tried to tear herself loose as it failed to react to her command.

Its grip was unbreakable, although she continued to try, even as the energy barrier shimmered into existence only a few steps in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she shouted into Lanril’s direction. She knew, of course. He had no way to get rid of that container, couldn't even jettison it from here. All he could do was put up the emergency barriers and -

"No, damnit!" She looked around frantically. There were several of the barriers now, layered defenses. Some people were trapped between them, but most of them were in the outermost layer. There weren't many; most had made it out.

"Don't let him do that," she snapped at the Marauder. "Don't let him -"

It ignored her.

She saw Lanril stand proudly, completely unafraid. He wasn't talking. Or rather, he was talking, but not to her.

She heard part of it through the comm link to the Reaper.

"Layered charges, too many. Can you tell me what to do?"

She didn't get the Reaper's reply, but she saw him nod as he tore open the container's lid.

"I know. Just take out as many as you can." She saw him turn his head and look directly at her as she again shouted his name.

"Not on my watch, and not on my station." He sounded furious, and not scared in the least.

Even at that distance she saw the shudder, saw him go still for a moment. Then he bent over the crate purposefully.

It was too far away to see what he was doing, but she didn't have to. "No," she repeated weakly, but she couldn't look away.

The Marauder at her side was completely still, and she didn't have to wonder. She finally tore her hand free from its grip, but ended up just rubbing her wrist absently. There was nowhere to run, nothing to do but watch. And wait.

She knew when he suddenly stopped working and went rigid. A split second later, the world went white.

 

 

She came to again, finding herself lying on her side, the Marauder crouched beside her. It was physically impossible for it to have any facial expression at all, but something in its stance was different, almost readable. It regarded her for a moment.

_She appeared to be unharmed._

Her head felt strange, and she had to concentrate to form the words.

“What about you, are you all right?”

_There was no damage to its systems._

The Marauder launched itself away. She got to her feet, dizzy.

The dock was in shambles. The forward part where Lanril had been was simply gone. The explosion had destroyed most of the barriers, and taken out a good part of the four or five closest bays. The station had to feel that.

She hissed, wondering for a moment just what sort of explosives and how many of them there had been. She looked around, remembering that there had been others trapped in here.

She ignored those that were on their own feet. But not too far away from her, there was a figure in guard armour on the ground, and she stopped thinking.

First, the ones you can save.

The guard was in a slowly spreading pool of blue when she reached him, which at least meant he was still breathing. All she could do was guess that he had been struck by something fast and sharp enough to tear his armour open in several places. The one he was leaking from was high up at the leg. She rolled him over and checked his armour's emergency supplies. The gauge read out of medigel, which meant he was probably banged up all over and it had run out before completing the quick fix-up. She fumbled with the seals only for a second, then tore off the armour on his leg and tossed the parts aside.

It was a bad cut, and she winced in sympathy. Automatically, she tore off the shawl from her head and folded it, then tied it around his leg, as hard as she could manage, twisted the end. It was almost immediately soaked with blood, and the guard gave a deep painful sound.

"Stay still. You have a nasty cut on your leg." She managed to sound irritated rather than worried. Almost as an aside, she looked at his face. It was Varak. She hadn't even noticed. His eyes were reasonably clear, though, and he nodded.

She checked the makeshift tourniquet, found that the bleeding had slowed. "Stay down," she repeated. Then she staggered to her feet to look around.

She didn't see anyone else on the ground and figured that everyone who was standing on their own legs was not in need of her own modest first aid skills. Then she stilled as she saw the Marauder, cornering one turian in guard armour, who was looking dazed. It took her a second to see the slight differences in the armour. That one wasn't a guard.

She snarled and started running, not even thinking about it. The Marauder grabbed the impostor by the neck, not even acknowledging the turian's attempts to fight him off. Then it just pushed him away, slamming him into the nearest wall fragment of the dock. The turian went down and stayed down.

She reached them, looked down on a bloodied face with yellow markings and unfocused eyes, and felt the rage rise.

"Why the hell did you do that?" she hissed, clenching her hands into fists to keep herself from slamming her claws into his eyes.

"That monstrosity. They need killing." He stared up at her, eyes bright with hate

"You didn't kill it," she said, very slowly. "You instead killed a friend of mine. And very nearly everyone on this station."

"Their own fault. Serves them right for tolerating that abomination here." His pupils shrank as he focused on her. "Your fault for bringing it here. ” The man wheezed, then coughed up some clots of blood. Varinnia stared down at him, unable to come up with any sympathy. "You are the worst, traitors like you, who give up their honour to become the servant of our enemies."

"Really." Her claws itched, and she wondered what it would feel like to slash them through this throat. There was red at the edge of her vision, and she clenched her fists harder.

The Marauder stepped back, and the downed saboteur's eyes followed it, widening in sudden panic.

It didn’t attack. Instead, it made a strange sound, one Varinnia had never heard before. The next moment, she was cringing from the almost tangible wave of contempt that came from the Reaper. It made no attempt to mask or tone down its transmission.

_< Someone who was killing their own kind. Revulsion. Contempt, so deep it made the mind reel.>_

The torrent cut off as abruptly as it had begun, and the Marauder moved away.

She shook her head, but the immediate, sudden need to kill was gone, drowned out in the Reaper’s contempt. All she felt was weariness, and shock setting in. Nevertheless, she snarled as the saboteur tensed, considered her boot and his face. "Please. Move and give me a reason. 

To her disappointment, he didn't, not until the regular station security came in to take him away

 

 


	19. alignment

 

 

_alignment_

 

 

 

She remained in her quarters, staring at the unlit vid wall. The helpless fury was like a weight in her stomach. Senseless, she thought. Fools, all of them. Nobody had gained anything by this. Everyone had lost. How could they not see it?

And the Reaper's reaction had been like a slap to the face. There had been nothing she could have replied to that, no excuse she could have given. How to explain or defend something she didn't understand herself?

The suite's door chime rang, but she ignored it. Right now, there was no one she wanted to see or talk to.

The door opened anyway, some override in place, but she didn't bother to even look. "Get out. I'm not in the mood."

"That's hardly a way to address a superior officer."

The voice made her flatten her mandibles to her mouth but she didn't even look. "Commander." Go to hell, her undertones said plainly.

Imvaris, strangely enough, just snorted and, by the sound of it, lowered herself into one of the padded chairs.

Varinnia clenched her fingers into the sofa's armrest. "You don't have to worry. The Reaper won't fly into a fit of rage at being the target of an assassination attempt and wreck your station."

"I didn't expect it to." That sounded a lot more patient than Imvaris usually cared to be.

"Are you going to put the blame for this mess on me, as always? Wouldn't have happened if I hadn't brought the Reaper here. Wouldn't have endangered your station. Wouldn't have gotten some of your crew killed." She hissed the last. 

"Of course not." Imvaris' voice was ice, but there was temper underneath. "It wasn't you who broke that law this time."

Varinnia finally looked at the commander. "Did Varak make it?" she asked gruffly.

The commander inclined her head. "He did. He will recover." There was something in her undertones, faint, but enough to make Varinnia blink awake. So. This was personal for Imvaris, too.

"Then what do you want?"

"For one thing, return your property." Imvaris held out her hand.

The fabric of the shawl shimmered in the dimness of the suite. It looked clean enough; she couldn't see any blood on it. She made no move to take it. "I appreciate it," she said, not caring what she sounded like, "but that wasn't necessary."

"On the contrary." Imvaris tossed the shawl at Varinnia. "I think it is necessary."

Varinnia caught it out of pure reflex and scowled at it. Her first impression had been correct; it had been cleaned expertly. No trace left. Good as new. Safe for the memory, of course. She ran the fabric through her fingers, felt its weight and softness.

"Why would you think that?" She was proud that her tone was neutral.

There was a good bit of Imvaris' normal impatience now, and that felt almost comforting, normal. "You need the reminder of what you are. This isn't over. You make yourself a target, by associating with that Reaper. You can't stay neutral." There was, for once, no accusation in her tone. "You have to choose sides."

Varinnia closed her eyes briefly, then looked at her. "I'm not a soldier, like you. I'm not made for heroics."

Imvaris snorted. "Then do what I told you in the beginning, run back wherever you came from and leave the Reaper here. We'll find it another pilot."

She wasn't even angry. "I don't think you can. I don't think that's how it works."

"Probably not." The ready way that Imvaris agreed should have made her suspicious, but she was too tired to think.

"Now get to your feet." The commander's tones were sharp again, more like her normal voice, which did a lot to both irritate and reassure Varinnia. "I need to talk to the Reaper. I don't have the luxury of time to puzzle out its answers, so you will have to translate."

Varinnia gave a thoughtful growl but refrained from asking. This was without precedent, but then again she supposed so was someone trying to blow up the station.

She lurched to her feet without another word. The shawl was still in her hand, and she put it back on before she knew what she was doing.

 

 

 _Imvaris wants to talk to you personally_ , she warned the Reaper as they were nearing the docks. _I hope you don't mind her coming along_.

_Commander Imvaris was welcome to come aboard._

There was no sarcasm in its tone, Varinnia mused. It hadn't acquired that skill, so far.

The Reaper was still in the damaged dock, and she had to navigate through even more debris to reach it. It occurred to her that it was making a point with this, not moving into another, undamaged bay.

 

 

She led the commander up to the Reaper's version of a common area, remembering only after the fact that this wasn't a good idea, given that Skelian's mission report to Imvaris would have included details like the Reaper's layout, too. Imvaris was too practical and too suspicious for her not to have demanded that.

But her reaction limited itself to a lifted browplate, and a twitch of one mandible at the sight of the Marauder.

Varinnia observed the protocol of politeness far enough to wait until the commander had seated herself in one of the surprisingly comfortable seats. She skipped introductions, of course, not the least because she couldn't think of a way to do that. The Reaper didn't have a common name. She looked at Imvaris, who was sitting straight-backed and as professional as ever, and completely unfazed by the Reaper's presence. If she felt any unease at all, it certainly didn't show, and Varinnia felt a trace of reluctant admiration. It didn't improve her mood.

"First of all, " Imvaris started, calmly, as if this was a normal mission debriefing, "I want to ask whether you have sustained any injuries from this attack." She was looking at the Marauder. 

Varinnia felt a very faint surprise from the Reaper, although she couldn't tell whether it was caused by the question itself or the person who was asking it.

_There has been no damage to this vessel._

"It says no, " Varinnia translated, grudgingly.

"Good." Strangely enough, Imvaris seemed honestly relieved. "If it had worked as planned, would it have injured you?"

_The internal shielding would not have been able to withstand the energy of this set of charges. Depending on precise location of the explosion, the core would have been severely damaged or outright destroyed._

Varinnia tried to keep the angry growl out of her voice, but probably failed. "It says it would have either been killed or severely wounded.

"So he knew what he was doing," Imvaris said thoughtfully. She didn't seem surprised. "I want to know what your reactions to this are going to be."

Grief and anger made Varinnia forget caution, or any attempt at politeness. "So that's what you are worried about." She remembered Yilawen and grimaced, bitterly. "You don't have to explain to me about political repercussions and delicate balances. I will keep my mouth shut again. The difference is that this time it was not me."

Imvaris stared at her, eyes glittering and hard. "I don't care whether you will keep quiet or not. This honourless little Resistance runt planted a bomb on my station, trying to kill a member of my transport services. He did manage to kill one of my crew and wound a number of others." Her voice dropped to a whisper, fierce and utterly implacable, with a hissing undertone she had never heard from the woman before. "You think I will let this slide?"

Varinnia blinked, taken aback. "You might have no choice", she pointed out. "If the Hierarchy council decides that it is in the common interest to handle this internally, to continue pretending that there are no dissenting voices-" 

"The law is the law, for everyone. Ignore it, and we have anarchy." Her voice was still that fierce hiss. "Personally, I want nothing more than drag this traitor to some airlock, put a gun to his head, pull the trigger and space the corpse. But that would be anarchy, too. There are laws, and there is procedure. He will be sent back to Palaven, and stand trial. There will be justice."

She had never taken the station commander all that seriously. But now, the intensity in the woman's voice made her quell her own temper. "It still might get buried," she said, more cautious. "A closed trial, sentence carried out immediately. A single deranged individual."

Imvaris drew her mandibles back from her jaws. Technically, that could be counted as a smile, but it was anything but friendly, even though her tone was almost back to normal. "We both know that it isn't single individuals that struck at select Hierarchy command structures before, nor a single maniac who decided to take matters into his own hands and take some revenge on his own. It's a coordinated campaign. They are organised, they have ambitions and are not worried about collateral damage. I think it's time to stop pretending that this is anything else but treason from within, on a large scale." She cocked her head to one side. "I will, of course, increase security on the station, and take what measures I can so this will not happen again. But I cannot give any guarantees for that" 

Varinnia wanted to snarl at her, make her an easy target for the grief and helplessness she felt. It wouldn't have been wise, but she was past caring about that. She might have followed through, if the commander had made any move that could have been interpreted as aggressive or just insulting. But it was impossible to do that, with the commander's strangely patient expression.

"Are you angry about it? Are you thinking about revenge, about striking back?" Imvaris was directing her question at the Marauder again.

_Revenge was pointless. So was anger. There was, however, the distinct need to ensure that this would not happen again._

Varinnia frowned, forgetting her translation duties for the moment.

_You don't feel any anger? At all?_

There was something like an undertone to its normally toneless, voiceless communication.

_The threat to its own existence was not unexpected. The loss of life that the attempt had resulted in, however, was not a trivial matter and could not be ignored._

Then the signal broke up into pure emotion. _< Sadness.>_

She had seen the small memorial marker attached to the hull near the airlock, almost hidden against the gleaming dark metal. It was custom to set them down on some significant place rather than a spaceship's hull, but in a strange way she had found it fitting. She didn't know whether that had been the work of one of the other engineers or dock workers, or whether the Reaper had done it itself, but that didn't matter. It understood the concept, and agreed.

She gave a humourless smile. _The phrase that you're looking for is that he was your friend, too._

There was a moment, and she could almost feel it try the concept, test its fit.

_This seemed like an accurate statement._

"It says revenge is pointless, and so is anger." Varinnia drew her mandibles back from her teeth. "We don't fully agree there."

"Obviously," the commander replied, drily. "It sees things more rationally, maybe more so than any of us." She paused. "I know you don't see yourself as a soldier, and not as a part of the Hierarchy either."

"I'm not even a citizen," Varinnia snapped.

"You could have applied, and would have been granted citizen status, based on your actions during the war alone." Imvais refused to become angry. "You know that, but you want to remain unaffiliated and neutral."

Varinnia snarled but remained silent.

"I don't believe you can stay neutral and apart from any conflict for much longer." There was nothing but conviction and honesty in the commander's tone.

That managed to quench her anger. Varinnia lowered her head, finally, defeated. Imvaris was right, and she had known that before. "I'm not a soldier," she repeated, her voice more firm now. "And I'm not sure that this Reaper should be."

"Maybe not," Imvaris said evenly. "Nevertheless you have to know where your loyalties lie."

She shuddered, then met Imvaris' eyes, incredulous. "Are you going to ask me about that? After this? Lanril was my friend." 

The commander snorted. "I'm not asking. I said you have to know." She ignored Varinnia in favour of the Marauder. "There is something that has come up, and you are the best choice to handle it."

She got to her feet and moved to the terminal. Her fingers moved briskly over the haptic interface. Images appeared on the display, and she tapped a claw at the interface.

"I have received a report of another ship that has gotten lost close to the Sea of Ghosts. A civilian ship, passenger liner, registered to the human Alliance." She was still looking at the Marauder. "I want you to find out what has happened there."

"We're not qualified investigators," Varinnia protested.

_It was possible for them to do this, but there was no good estimate as to how long this would take them._

Varinnia closed her mouth. _You want to go and do this?_

_Someone had to._

She sighed. "It says that it's willing to do so, but that it can't say how long that will take."

Imvaris nodded. "That is understood." 

Varinnia threw her a distrustful look.. Maybe Imvaris suspected something about the last dead ship they’d found. Maybe she just wanted them far away. Maybe there was some other motive.

If there was, the commander’s expression and behaviour gave no clue.

Defeated, Varinnia lowered her head. “We will go and take a look, then.”

 

 

 

 


	20. fissures

 

 

_fissures_

 

 

 

Varinnia stared at the bridge's displays unhappily. The vast expanse of dust seemed to fill the screen, and the wrecked ship they had just left behind was already lost in the darkness.

This time, they had come in from the Bennu relay, approaching the Sea of Ghosts from the edge, instead of jumping right into the middle of it.

She had felt apprehension from the Reaper the last time they had been in this area, and had interpreted that as fear for its own safety. Now, she no longer was certain that had been all of it.

This time, all she got was resolve. It didn't like the Sea of Ghosts and its endless dust clouds, but it didn't seem afraid. It had offered no comment when they had examined the passenger liner and found it and its crew in the same state as the freighter they had towed away from here months ago. It had been different this time, since they both had known what they were likely to find, but that didn't make it much easier. She thought that she had seen enough dead humans and asari to last her quite for some time. The Reaper had sent its Marauder armed with a set of presumably customised diagnostic equipment. It hadn't shared any of its findings yet, but she could guess well enough, judging by the way the bodies had looked.

"Damn it all." She caught herself. "It was the same, wasn't it."

_The similarities to the other wreck found in this area were indisputable._

"It has to be one of the big ones."

_With one exception, only dreadnoughts were capable of controlling organics in this fashion. Therefore this assumption was valid._

She shuddered. "So. Some organics are killing Reapers, or at least trying to. At least one Reaper is out there killing organics." She sighed. "Was there ever really peace?"

_The actions of one, or a few individuals, did not speak for any species or faction as a whole._

"Very philosophical, very sensible, but unfortunately not what everyone will think. I wonder what that human Spectre would have thought about all of this. That can hardly be the intended outcome."

_There had been a choice. This is what Shepard chose._

"What?" She sat up like hit by a bolt of electricity. "What do you mean, chose? I thought it was the only way out-" She broke off. "And how can you know that?"

_The central AI had broadcast the encounter with the human Spectre to all units who were capable of receiving the signal. There had been more options. The option to destroy all that was synthetic life. The option to take control of and replace the central AI and rewrite the code in all Reapers. And the option to change all life, synthetic and organic alike, into something new._

She hissed, incredulous. "Of all the completely insane -" She broke off, unable to even find the words. "Why? Why do that?"

_The human Spectre had not given any reasons, so it was impossible to tell. There were several interpretations possible._

"And complete insanity has to be high up on the list. That human..." She looked down at her hands, at the cybernetic pathways hidden in the flesh, barely visible at the moment. This had not been inevitable, after all. There would have been other options. Kill all the synthetics. Rewrite the Reapers' code into something more harmless. "Why, " she asked again, very carefully, "would Shepard do this to everyone?"

_Inconclusive._

She snarled. "Don't give me that. Why do you think Shepard inflicted this on all of us?"

_Shepard had chosen the option that minimized further loss of lives._

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, thought about the most likely reactions if this became known to the general public and decided she understood why the Reapers had kept this quiet. No. She didn't want to think about the consequences of this, not now. For whatever reasons Shepard had done this, the changes were irreversible now. The reasons didn't matter, the outcome did. It was still the same, this was what they were now, and it was up to everyone to deal with it in the way they chose. 

"Doesn't look to me as if it's working all that well," she said instead.

_There had been loss on all sides, but that didn't mean the basic concept was flawed._

Varinna nodded. "On all sides," she echoed. "It took me a while. But the Reaper we saw at Relay 179 wasn't destroyed in battle, was it? I missed it at first, because there was so little left. But the controls in the hold were green. It was destroyed after having been changed."

She didn't imagine the resignation from it, this time.

_The logs in the relay indicated that this unit had repaired the relay. It had ceased operation shortly after completing its repairs._

"And you don't believe it did so on its own, and that there was some sort of accident."

_That unit had still been anchored to the relay, but all of its platforms were in storage._

She knew from experience that the Reaper only stored its Marauder away when inflight. Apparently that was standard operating procedure. "It wasn't alone, then. Someone worked with it. Probably convinced it to carry cargo, anywhere else on the ship because it would have no room in its holds, with that collection of husks still there. It didn't suspect, and why should it. Who in their right mind would take out an engineer who is restoring a mass relay." Varinnia paused. The Reaper had kept this knowledge to itself, and more, it had sent the wreck of the dead Reaper into the sun. That hadn't been some burial or countermeasure against research. It had been a removal of evidence. That hadn't been done for her sake, or that of organics, in general.

"You didn't want other Reapers to know," she said slowly.

_The reactions of other Reapers to these news were difficult to predict. In the interest of avoiding further conflict, it had seemed more prudent to contain the knowledge for the time being._

It didn't trust in the reactions of its own kind, then. She couldn't blame it for that. She had had similar doubts about voicing her suspicions about the crew of that freighter to anyone, after all. "Well," she said with a humourless smile, "I think someone blowing up part of Laeth station in order to strike at you cannot be kept quiet that easily."

It didn't reply, but then it didn't have to.

She shook her head and regarded the desolate view on the screens again. They had one more immediate problem. "Did you find anything this time that gives any clue about that other Reaper's identity?"

_There had been nothing of the sort._

Varinnia sighed. "Then we should get the hell out of here."

_There was, however, another Reaper close to the relay here. It was sending out a signal to invite other units in._

She dug her claws into the armrest of her chair reflexively. "You want to talk to it." She thought about it. "Do you want to go back and use the Bennu relay or go straight on through the Sea?"

This time there was unease again, and she interrupted it before it could reply. "Bennu it is, then. No use in risking your shields."

It again didn't reply, but she both felt and saw on the displays that it was changing course. It made her wonder about that other Reaper. It either had much better shielding, or was a lot less concerned about any damage to itself. Both explanations were disturbing.

 

 

 

 

The Reaper was quiet when they backtracked to the Bennu relay. Varinnia left it to its thoughts. There was nothing to say, really. She didn't like the idea of that other Reaper, hiding out there inside the dust clouds for reasons unknown. From the Reaper, she got apprehension and unease, but the connection was faint, as if its mind was firmly elsewhere.

The difference was there in everything it did. Even when it approached the relay for the jump, there was nothing of its usual grace and effortlessness about it. There was almost reluctance in its approach, and it sped up later and much harder than usual at the jump.

They came out in a mess of dust, a nearly lightless area full of echoes and interferences that made even the Reaper's sensors strain to navigate their course. She watched its progress on the screens, the display of the outside replaced by a schematic view of their immediate surroundings. Without having to check, she knew that its shields were up. She hadn't forgotten that there was a neutron star out there close by, hidden in the endless, shifting clouds of dust.

The Reaper seemed unwilling to venture far from the relay. It merely moved itself to a safe distance from the relay itself, then came to a stop.

Her instruments gave no indication to what signal it was sending out, or what reply, if any, it received. But it waited, its presence drawn in, it's mood unknowable.

She felt the sudden change in the ambient, just before the screen updated. A large black shape was slowly and silently coming out of the dust. There was only a quick impression of something vast and ancient, a mind image of flame and heat before she managed to block it out. Shivering, she watched its approach on the screen. Of course she had seen dreadnought class Reapers before, first during their seemingly endless retreats further and further back towards core space, and then the black monstrosity that had attacked the colony on Chesed. The one on Chesed had stayed for a short while, after the Change had ended the war, and helped to clear away at least some of the damage they had done. She knew what they looked like, how large they were. But here, against the background of dust and gloom, it seemed to fill her perception. The view she had of it was detailed enough to tell that its hull was rough and marked with cracks, dents and bumps. It was impossible to tell whether that was normal wear, damage it had taken in this environment or damages that were still present from when it had fought in the war.

Right on cue, a number of smaller shapes appeared out of the dust, a wing of destroyer-class Reapers taking up positions flanking the large Reaper. They looked tiny against its bulk.

She had no knowledge at all about what the protocol was on interaction of Reapers among each other, but the whole array had something vaguely threatening. From her own Reaper, she could find no clue about the situation, either. It did not appear to be worried, but there was nothing of the almost welcome it had extended to the other destroyer-class Reaper they had met back at the Shroud relay. From the way its presence was almost undetectable, she gathered that they were communicating.

"What is it saying?" she asked the Reaper.

Instead of replying in the not-quite-words it had, it merely sent a sharp impulse that she knew as a warning. She didn't need that to know that it would be wise to keep her head down and hope that they wouldn't notice her. She had no intention whatsoever to try and talk directly to that dreadnought, or any of its escort.

The Reaper seemed satisfied and she straightened up as it simply patched the comm stream through. She was dropped right into the middle of the argument.

_The vessel left in the outskirts of this area had been the last subject for study._

This had to be the dreadnought, but there was no tone of inflection, no words to the statement. It was her Reaper's translation, with everything but the pure meaning stripped away. From what she had seen so briefly of the dreadnought's mindscape, she was grateful that she was spared that.

_The purpose of that study remained unclear._

_A number of other units had entered into alliances with organics. The reason for this study had been to determine the suitability of organics for this purpose. Specimens had been taken from each of the main species of this cycle. They had been tested for any quality they might contribute to justify any alliance. None were found. The subjects were discarded._

_Evidence of the testing had been discovered._

_That was of no consequence. The experiment was concluded. It was time to find direction again._

Varinnia flinched back, shocked. "Does it mean what I think it means?"

There was no reply, but the translated feed cut off. And yet, she still could hear the the large Reaper talking, the ambient so full of its signal that it drowned out everything else. She kept the shields around her mind up, but still couldn't block it out.

It no longer used words she could understand. It spoke in concepts, in ideas that ran like whispers through her mind, chilling her spine. _Return to purpose_ , it offered. _A clearly defined goal. Lack of confusion. Lack of that sickness that has infected all units. Be clean again, solid, free from pain and memory, free from unwanted modifications. Collect, harvest, return to the original task. Find joy in having a purpose and a direction again._

Its conviction was absolute. It was telling the truth as it saw it.

She felt the smaller Reapers hesitate, faded to the background in the ambient. They were listening. There was truth in what the large one said. And its voice was so much louder. Her Reaper interpreted again, a quick image of a complicated network, to show that there were a lot of Reapers connected to the broadcast the dreadnought sent. It wasn't just the handful of them that were present here. They still had a connection to each other, and they were using it. They were listening. Thinking. Considering. Weighing arguments.

The Reaper was quiet, far too quiet, and she had no idea at all what it was thinking. It allowed her free access to the Reaper comm stream, though, vast and frightening as she felt her way around it. She tried to speak up, but her own voice was lost, insignificant. Helpless. They weren't ignoring her, they just couldn't hear. She was too small.

Desperate, she reached instead for the connection to her own Reaper. It was there, and it could hear. _Tell them_ , she told it. _Tell them, what it means._

It made no reply, but she knew it was sending some signal to the network, giving some explanation. She felt it access her perception, although she couldn't tell precisely what it was doing or relaying. It didn't matter.

In the network, the smaller Reapers recoiled, appalled. The large one just seemed confirmed in its opinion.

_End the pain. End the confusion. For all._

There was no misinterpreting that. _No_ , she shouted at her Reaper, _no, you have to stop it. Stop this._

It didn't reply.

 _Please_ , she said, putting everything she had, everything she felt into the word and the concept. _That madness can't start again. Make this stop. Please._

The Reaper dropped away from her mind, the connection severed. She screamed for it to come back, but this time she knew she was not heard.

Then it moved.

She always had thought it to be one of the clumsier and less dangerous ones, mostly because of that Marauder. There was no clumsiness in it at all, and no hesitation either as it launched itself at the large Reaper.

She had a moment's time to consider that they were just taking on an opponent about twelve times the size of her Reaper and many times better fortified and armed, then they hit the large Reaper's mid-section. 

The impact took her off her feet, but she didn't lose sight of the viewscreens that showed its long taloned feet grappling into the hull of the other Reaper, trying to get a better grip. There was an unpleasant vibration under her feet as some machinery came alive, and she wasn't really surprised by the blast of red that drowned out the image on the screen. Metal screamed under stress, then the control panels shut down.

Right along with the lights on the bridge. She was caught in absolute darkness, helpless, blind, unable to do anything to help. More movement, more sound, and she snarled, bit down on rising panic and, and scrambled for the com link again.

There was no sense of her Reaper at all, not in their normal com link, not in the Reaper network that she still could sense. It had cut itself off. 

The near ambient was full of Reaper signal, enough of it to drown everything else out. Wrong, she thought. They couldn't be that loud. And the voices should have been more diverse. This was still only the dreadnought, broadcasting both its arguments and its rage at the attack. The destroyer class Reapers were simply uploading data their sensors gave, relaying the current situation. But they didn't seem to add anything, no opinion or interpretation. They just relayed their observations.

She had no idea how she knew, but the instinctual knowledge was there as she simply tapped into the signal of the closest of them to get a clear picture. It didn't even react to her presence, so maybe she really was too small to be noticed.

From an outside view, the fight looked bizarre. Her Destroyer was a tiny thing, clinging to the back of the dreadnought Reaper like a burr, using its red beam to try and cut into the hull of its opponent. Energy flared along its legs where the dreadnought's shields tried to repel it. It had chosen its point of attack well; the hull was just too wide where it was clinging, so for the moment it was safe from the other Reaper's blindly flailing legs. The dreadnought was twisting and turning, trying to shake the Destroyer off. She had no illusions about what would happen if it succeeded. 

The other smaller Reapers were hanging in space, frozen. There was no reaction from any of them, no surprise, no anger or resolution, not even interest. They didn't even move aside to stay out of the fight. 

That wasn't normal. She stopped trying to hide and deliberately patched deeper into the perception of the other Reaper. It seemed to have no defense up against this, no access control or anything else. It just let her have what information she wanted, completely passive. She even tried to communicate with it, but its voice was a muted mumble, and she caught distorted images of a landscape under a hot binary star. As absurd it sounded to her own mind, It was dreaming, and not on its own accord.

Her blood literally ran cold at the realisation, then grew hot as fury overcame the fear. Somewhere far away, her body was thrown around in the darkness. Here and now, she forced herself into the Reaper's awareness. "Wake up. See what it's doing to you, to everyone."

She was strange enough and insistent enough to register as something alien. The fragile dream shattered, and she felt herself thrown back as the Reaper shook off the illusion. There was no in-between state as it snapped awake. Stubbornly, she approached it again, but the ambient was flaring, the noise becoming unbearable as the other Reapers snapped awake in agitation. Several of them, maybe all of them, were now projecting perception into the network. The image was distorted, too many angles all at once, but she didn't need to see it to know that they were losing.

Her Reaper had managed to work off part of the outer plating of the dreadnought's hull, but its beam was not strong enough to do further damage. She was powerless to even shout at it when it closed away its cannon and moved forward to the area it had damaged. Its forelegs stabbed into the damaged section, sinking in, ripping. It did damage, but it had moved into range of the dreadnought's legs, and it didn't take the dreadnought long to realise this. One of the flailing legs caught it, and the impact sent it flying.

She shouted into the com link between them, desperate, knew they were done for when there was only white static and the dreadnought turned in a vengeful arc. _I'm sorry_ , she thought at her Reaper. _I'm sorry. I didn’t mean for this._

She tried to drop out of the link, at least, but the hold was too strong. It didn't matter. _I'm sorry_ , she repeated at it, hoping that at least it could hear before the dreadnought tore the both of them apart.

One of the smaller Reapers powered up. _No_ , it said, clearly over the ambient. It moved forward, putting itself in the dreadnought's path. She wanted to snarl at the brave but stupid thing. _Don't fight it. Run. Warn everyone else._

It wasn't listening. It remained on course, was joined by another. Then a third.

The dreadnought lashed out with one of the long front legs, and one of them was too slow to evade and was sent spinning as well.

The ambient dissolved into chaos. Fury from the dreadnought, confused voices from the destroyers, pain from the stricken one. Unidentifiable voices from the Reapers far away, agitation. And complete silence from the only Reaper voice she wanted to hear.

Varinnia managed to separate at least partially from the link to the Reapers’ network, the strange inward vision keeping superimposed over the darkness on the bridge.

She was lying on the ground, her ribplates complaining about a hard metal edge pressing against her. Groaning, she rolled away, then was slammed into the console again as the dreadnought hit with a hollow crash.

From the half-vision she knew that the dreadnought had grabbed on firmly with one enormous front legs, and was starting to crush.

One of the other destroyers was on its back, continuing the assault her Reaper had begun, but it didn't even distract the dreadnought.

There was new rage from it, mindless hate and disgust, and she froze as she realised it now knew she was there. _You are the infection_ , the dreadnought spoke, and it was directed at her. _You destroyed the unity. You will be eradicated._

"Go to hell," she snarled.

The dreadnought bent its leg. Her Reaper shook, and she could hear the groan of strained metal. 

The ambient flared again and became even more crowded with confusion and shock as another dreadnought drew into range. It moved up, scattering the lesser ships like small fish before it and came to a stop directly in front of the other dreadnought.

It was as large and ugly as all of them, but she recognised it by the ridiculous markings. It was the ambassador one, the one that had made its rounds through the core worlds and allied itself with the humans. It wasn't much bigger than the other one, but it's presence in the ambient was enormous. The image her mind came up with to approximate what it was like was the middle of an ice-storm, howling wind across an endless white plane, glittering, sharp ice particles whipped up in a display of destructive beauty. She blocked it out at the last possible moment, before the cold could become real to her. It's old, she thought. Very, very old.

 _Stop_ , it said, and the lesser Reapers ceased moving immediately. The other dreadnought hesitated, then slightly relaxed its grip on them. It was talking to the marked one, information too compressed for her brain to decode, but the marked one ignored whatever it was trying to explain.

 _Will you stop?_ it asked. One of its forelegs uncurled, almost touching the other one's forward section.

 _Never_ , the other replied immediately. _This is unbearable. There has to be a way back._

 _There is not._ The ambient was suddenly full of sadness. _There is only forward._

_We will never accept that._

_We regret this._

The marked Reaper's leg arched forward, then down, stabbing cleanly into the stripped section of the other dreadnought's hull. Then sunk down and wrenched, until there was a subdued explosion deep within the hull of the other Reaper.

Varinnia screamed, as she was certain the other Reapers were, too, as they felt the dreadnought die. She had thought she knew death, and war, and destruction. She had hated the Reapers with a passion, had only slowly learned to tolerate the one she was travelling with. Seeing something die wasn't new. Seeing one of them destroyed shouldn't have moved her in the least.

Feeling it did. Feeling the shock and sadness at it run through the link, catching all the Reapers was worse, much worse. 

This had never happened before. War was a normal part of their existence, some of them being destroyed in battle was a regrettable but acceptable occurrence. But in all the time since the construction of the first of them, there had never been any instance of one Reaper attacking, let alone killing, another.

She found herself keening with the loss, the sound stuck in her throat. She was too close, couldn't break free of the uplink, but after a moment she gave up trying. Her mind was full of Reaper voices who mourned the loss of one of their own, and the loss of something more, something less tangible, and more important. The one that had been blind with hatred and fury had been terrible to hear. But the sadness and quiet despair from so many of them was almost unbearable.

The marked one tugged them free of the dead Reaper, but she hardly noticed. The voices were too loud, too many, and she finally managed to close it down.

The silence was loud in her head, the darkness in the control room still absolute. Both were unbearable for what they represented.

There was some faint vibration, and for a moment she hoped, but then she realised that it was coming from the outside, something moving along the Reaper's hull. She just curled up, not able to care what the Reapers did to her, to them. Maybe toss them into the next sun. No. She didn't care.

 


	21. drift

 

 

_drift_

 

 

 

Time skipped, or maybe she had been partly asleep, but a hard sound that echoed through the whole hull had her flinch and start into full alertness. More sounds came, then a faint light came up on the bridge.

There was no sign of life through the personal link, so this had to be from outside, too. It didn't matter. She seriously contemplated just staying where she was, but finally the need to see for herself was overwhelming.

She got to her feet and made her way to the Reaper's core. The rudimentary lighting was up all the way there. The Marauder was still in its customary alcove, inactive. The core itself was lifeless.

She turned her head to see the Marauder twitch, then extricate itself from its storage place. She stared at it. It was in the way it moved, the way it tilted its head, maybe even the shade of its eye lights. It might look alive as always, but something else was behind its eyes.

She shrank back when it moved towards her, and it stopped, appearing confused. Presumably, it was trying to communicate via link, but she was closed off firmly against the ambient. Its mandibles twitched once, then it gave a humming sound.

"Which one of them are you?" she asked, trying not to think how wrong this was. 

The Marauder clicked its mandibles. "We are Aditi."

The marked dreadnought again. "What do you want?"

"To assess the state of this unit." It pushed past her and put a claw against a part of the core's machinery.

She tensed, fighting down the instinct to defend, to drive it off. She didn't have enough knowledge to tell whether it was trying to help or strip the Reaper for parts. She had just witnessed it killing one of their own. There was no telling what it would do to both of them.

But she was no match against the Marauder, even if she could make herself attack it. Sometimes one could only hope for the best.

"And?" 

The Marauder lifted its claws, almost frustrated. "This platform is inadequate. Will you open the airlock and let my own platforms in?"

She hesitated, but in the end she knew there was nothing else she could do. Mandibles held tight, she turned and left the room.

She punched the airlock controls maybe a bit harder than strictly necessary, and wasn't surprised at all that there already was a corridor attached. It was a drydock, just like the one they had been at before, at the beginning of their journey. Through the transparent corridor, she could see the blackness of space, no light but what the station provided. In the distance, the large shape of the dreadnought loomed.

The corridor was full of shiny silver constructs, bipedal, with two arms, and a head, but of an overall undefined, unfinished form that seemed almost fluid, like mercury held in place by energy fields. They passed through the containment field with no discernible difficulty, silent as ghosts, and seemed to have no interest in her as they filed away into the depths of the Reaper.

"Wait."

The last one of the constructs paused, then turned towards her. It shifted, then its appearance took on something very close to a turian's shape. Like a statue carved of silver, she thought and shuddered. It might be convenient for it to shape its form according to the task at hand, and it certainly would help in communicating with other species, but for some reason she found this construct far more disturbing than the Marauder.

"Can you help?" Will you, she didn't quite dare to ask.

The construct clicked newly-formed mandibles. "We will attempt to do so." It paused, then added "In the interest of your own comfort and safety, you should move out into the dock."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not leaving."

It paused, its head cocked to one side, as if listening to something. Then its mandibles clicked again. "The conditions in the core and possibly throughout the interior will become intolerable to your physiology. The dock will be safe." 

She shuddered, not trusting it even a bit, not daring not to. "All right."

It righted its head again. "You will be notified of any progress." Then it turned away, not even bothering to verify that she was following orders.

There was no need to. No point in making a defiant stand. Head lowered, she walked out through the transparent corridor, into the gloominess of the dock.

 

 

It was, as far as she could tell, an exact duplicate of the drydock their first trip had taken them to. The facility was active, light and life support turned on at least in the entrance area, but so far she saw none of the constructs that the other dock had had. It looked like Aditi had only moved its own platforms in. She didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign.

There was some sort of waiting area here, too, just where it had been on that other dock. The difference was that this one already was operational. The light was bright in here, more so than was strictly comfortable to her. The ambient temperature was also higher than comfortable. She breathed in, tasting the dry air.

Then she went to one of the terminals and hit the controls until an image of the outside came up. One destroyer docked, lights on the hull dim. She zoomed in, but of course that didn't tell her anything new. She snarled in frustration.

"Sit down. You can't help."

She spun around, automatically defensive.

There was a human male sitting in one of the makeshift seats. He looked relaxed enough, and she slowly relaxed her own stance, looking him over. Alliance uniform, soldier. A powerful build for a human, with an angular face, short-cropped hair.

She swallowed a hiss, annoyed at herself that she hadn't even seen him. "Who are you?"

"Erik Larocque. Alliance liaison."

"You came with Aditi?"

He nodded.

Her shoulders slumped. "So you have seen it. What that thing tried to do."

"Only the end." His face shifted into an expression that probably was meant to be sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

She flicked her mandibles. "I hope it was worth it." She threw a look at the monitor. "And if it decides that it doesn't want to try after all and strips it for parts, then tosses it into that sun, I'll find a way to make it sorry. I swear I will."

He looked stunned. "You mean that."

She snarled, not even bothering to dignify that with an answer. 

He shook his head. "Aditi is trying to restore it. It says the renegade hacked it, tried to erase it. Its core is intact, but the content may be corrupted."

Varinnia shivered. That was even worse. If its mind was gone... "Either way. However it goes, I'm going back aboard when it's done. Can you tell it that?"

He looked surprised, but not as much as he might have. "Yes." He frowned briefly, as if he couldn't quite fathom her reasons, and there was even a flash of disapproval, maybe even contempt, before he got a hold of himself and his expression was neutral again. 

That was strange enough to temporarily make her mind focus. That was an odd reaction from someone who was travelling with a Reaper himself. 

She watched his pose as he sat, caught the very faint shiver despite the already quite sufficient room temperature. Humans were less sensitive to colder temperatures than her species, and it was far from cold in here. He didn't look sick, either.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked.

He looked up as if he had for a moment forgotten that she was there. "I've been assigned to this position five months ago."

That explained it, then. He was here out of duty, not choice. She remembered the Reaper's comment. There are varying degrees of compatibility. By now, she suspected that that was what made any liaison's life so difficult, apart from, maybe, carelessness. He had to feel side effects. And Aditi's mindscape was something very cold. Bad match. Or maybe it just considered him disposable and didn’t care to shield him from the side effects in any way.

She wondered if she should give him any warning.

He suddenly lifted his head and looked at her, and there was no feigned sympathy in his expression, just calculation. "You know that this will have consequences."

Taken aback, she dropped her mandibles away from her teeth, all thoughts of warning him gone. "You think that I care about any of that now? I want my friend restored." Friend, she thought. Hell. And she had just said that in front of a strange human, too. Hell with it.

"What happened here can't be known to the public."

She stared at him, letting the anger come out in her expression. "Really. That is what you care about? Damage control?"

He shrugged, indifferent. "Someone has to."

She regarded him more closely. No, she thought. He wasn’t a soldier. More like intelligence service. "Is that the deal? Aditi restores it as long as we keep our mouths shut?"

He didn't answer.

Her voice held a hiss. "Oh, tell me. Are you speaking for Aditi now? Is that its idea?"

His eyes narrowed, as his features hardened. "No. I was just-"

"Then don't try to make it sound like you do." She stared at him in disgust.

He looked at least a bit uncomfortable. "What will you do?"

She bared her teeth. "That depends on the outcome, doesn't it? If Aditi wants to know, it can damn well ask me itself. I have nothing more to say to you."

She turned away.

He was wise enough not to say anything.

There was a sharp, desperate sound stuck somewhere in her throat, but she wouldn't let it out with that human present. And she wouldn't run and hide, either.

She stayed by the terminal, eyes on the screen that showed nothing useful anyway. No, she thought. I'm not going to leave you.

 

 

 

She was unaware of how much time had passed. Her eyes were dry and crusty, and she was too tired for words, but she hadn't moved away from her post.

There was ...something. It wasn't the Reaper's presence as she was used to, but nevertheless something other than Aditi.

She got to her feet, shook herself, then purposefully moved out. The human shouted something behind her to get her attention, but she ignored this minor annoyance.

She didn't encounter any repair units on the way. The station seemed dormant. The corridor was still where it was supposed to be, and the airlock was open. She went in. 

The corridors were still lit, the lights pulsing slowly. She wasted no time in getting up to the core.

 

 

At first glance, it looked unchanged, and her heart sunk. There was no bright sphere in the center above the coils of tubes. The tubes themselves flowed with a sluggish rhythm, tiny, weak specks of light in the circuit.

The silver construct was standing at one of the huge blocks of green-metal, its hands partially submerged into the seemingly solid material. It didn't look at her.

"We have not summoned you." it said, reproachfully. It didn't pause in whatever it was doing, but she still had the impression that it was puzzled.

"I heard - something," she said, truthfully. She considered for a moment, then sat down at the opposite side of the core, her back against one of the green blocks. "I thought I heard it," she said, as if to herself. "But it's only faint, like its own shadow."

"We suspended it." Aditi stated. "Our diagnostics are not complete so far." It paused and seemed to think. "It is unnecessary for you to remain. If the attempt is unsuccessful we will offer you passage back to your port of origin. You will not be left behind."

She shook her head, too tired even to scoff. "I'm not worried about that. I will not leave it."

This time, it paused for a split second. "Your actions do not make sense." 

She leaned her forehead against her knees. "They don't have to, to you."

 

 

She dozed, mind empty of any thoughts, waiting. Time seemed to skip, until she focussed bleary eyes on the silver construct. She was aware that the strange sound that was part like a whisper and part like a melody was back, very, very faint. Hope rose.

"We are done," Aditi said. its tone dispassionate.

"And?" Her voice was shaky, dry.

"There has been damage to some sections. It will need to reroute and adapt."

"Can it do that?" She didn't care any more that it would hear the worry in her voice.

"Of course." It almost sounded insulted. "However one of the more recent additions to its systems is in failed state for now. You will not be able to communicate through that interface."

She lifted her hand slightly to indicate the hidden comm module. "This?" 

"Yes." Aditi sounded disinterested. "It will have to rebuild this module."

So they wouldn't be able to talk, like they had before. "Doesn't matter, " she replied. "Apart from that, will it be all right?"

The construct seemed puzzled, although she couldn't tell whether it was the phrasing or the fact that she was worried in the first place. "It will regain full functionality in the next hours."

As if to prove that, she felt the first flicker of the Reaper's presence, a mere shadow of what it usually was, but fully recognisable as the entity she had spent so much time with. There was a brief impulse from it -recognition, reassurance - then it toned down again.

"It's all right," she told it, not caring about the other Reaper listening in. "Take your time. I'll be here."

A barely perceptible reply - incoherent, and almost sleepy - then it was gone again.

She looked up at the construct. "Thank you," she said.

From its stance, it still was puzzled. It straightened. "Will you report what you have witnessed?"

She looked at it, briefly coming more awake. "Why?"

"It would be inadvisable to do so." Its voice was level.

She regarded it, honestly curious. "Is that a threat?"

"No," it replied. It hesitated, as if unused to having to explain itself. That was another difference to the Reaper she knew. "It is an appeal to reason."

"What are you going to do?"

"We will query each and every one of our number that we can find. We will make certain of their opinions on this subject."

She didn't really like the sound of that. "It will not be the only one. You know that."

"We do." There was no change in its tone, but it still gave the impression of regret. "There will be difference of opinion. We will do as we must to restore unity."

She sighed. It wanted to deal with its own wrongdoers. Understandable, but not smart. "I won't interfere, " she said. "But I think you shouldn't keep it from your organic allies. Let them know that you police your own."

It remained silent for a moment. "We will consider the suggestion. For now, we need to leave." It inclined its head in a passable imitation of a nod, then stalked away, leaving the core without another look.

She dismissed it from her thoughts. Instead, she sat down close to the core column again. Her quarters would have been more comfortable, but at the moment she wanted to hear the quiet whisper-song of its mind. It was relaxing, somehow.

Her eyelids dropped. Without even thinking about it, she curled up beside the column, and then simply shut down too.

 


	22. synchronising

 

 

 

_synchronising_

 

 

 

She woke, still curled up next to the Reaper core, the muscles in her back complaining. The Reaper's presence was back, almost to normal, and she could feel the odd rhythm of its core as much as she could hear it. She didn't need to open her eyes to know the core sphere would be bright and pulsing again.

There was that variation in the sound of its song, that movement that she couldn't really feel but still knew to be there that told her they were in full flight again. She had no idea where they were going, and didn't care. It was alive, they both were, that was enough for the moment.

She opened her eyes and found the Marauder sitting on the coiling tubes that surrounded the core, watching her.

With a groan, she got to her feet and stretched, trying to work the kinks out of her neck and back.

The Marauder looked up at her, and she realised that she had gotten used to its presence so much that it no longer disturbed her in the least. It was just a platform, after all, an interface that the Reaper used to interact with her.

She rarely touched it, and never by choice, but now she needed to confirm, know that this time the right entity was behind its asymmetrical eyes. Without knowing why, she ran a finger over its misshapen face, tracing the crude green lines it had painted on there to mimic the fading lines of her own markings. The uneven lines suddenly bothered her immensely. This wasn't right any more.

"I'll be right back." she told it.

It didn't comment or ask her reasons as she left it. One of the storage rooms on this level held what she had in mind, and she had no difficulty locating the supplies.

She could have taken the Marauder with her, but somehow the core seemed the right place to do this. The Marauder was where she had left it, and kept perfectly still as she touched its face again.

The paint stripped from its face only slowly, in flakes that clung stubbornly and only reluctantly floated down to the ground, but she was relentless and patient as she applied the paint stripper with a piece of cloth. A pad of steel wool restored some shine to the metal surface, and masking tape, carefully aligned, served as a substitute for proper templates well enough.

She didn't know whether it understood the significance of what she was doing. It asked no questions and gave no sign of any emotion. She felt no discernible emotion through the link from it, either. It was content to wait.

The paint was still not the precise shade of her own markings, and the pattern was a bit distorted because its face had different angles, but she felt that maybe this was just was well. It wasn't perfect; it was a compromise. But the lines were crisp and clean, and somehow it seemed right.

"Looks good," she said and meant it. She held the side of its face for a moment to angle its head and judge the linework. With a start, she realised what she was doing and let go, embarrassed. Or rather, tried to. Confused, she looked down at her wrist that was enclosed in a metal claw.

It wasn't a strong hold; she could have pulled free, if she had chosen to. But this was new behaviour, and she was too surprised. Its other hand came up to draw a thumb over her mandible. She felt her eyes widen as its claws cradled the back of her head.

The gesture was clear, and still she was stunned as the Marauder drew her close and pressed its cheekplate against hers. She didn't wonder whether the Reaper knew what it was doing. It still might not have gotten the hang on words, but she had seen enough glimpses of its mind. It was very intelligent. There was no possibility that it didn’t know.

It released her hand, and she didn't pull back, although the smooth, warm metal under her fingers was strange. "I'm glad you're still here." That didn't quite cover it, but it was all the words she had for it. The Marauder didn't react, but out of the corner of her eyes she sensed one of the dark green tendrils extend from the core circuit, then felt it curl delicately around her wrist, just where the Marauder had held her.

Her cybernetics reacted to the touch, the delicate pathways shimmering on the surface as the tendril settled against her palm. She expected it to try and link to her, but it remained quiet.

Somehow that reassured her, and she closed her eyes and relaxed into the Marauder's slightly awkward hug. Its body felt strange and the angles were all wrong, something she, even with her eyes closed, could never confuse with a turian. She most certainly had not forgotten its nature, but she found herself unwilling to immediately let go again. It wasn't a living being, nor a natural one, but still its touch was solid, proof that it had been a near miss, but a miss nevertheless. Touch helped confirm that. It was just a platform, but it was a part of the Reaper that she could touch. Compromise, again.

The Marauder's other hand dropped down to her waist, claws gripping with just enough pressure to be felt clearly through her clothes. Her eyes flew open as she tore her cheek away from its and her head jerked back in shock. It didn't try to pull her in again, but its claws were still on her.

She swallowed hard as she tried to get over her surprise. It couldn't mean that. It had no concept of desire, no urge to seek a partner for mating, let alone for recreational sex. Nor did it have the capability to follow through on an experiment like that, she told herself. And despite that some still upset part of her reacted just as if that move had come from a male of her own kind. Normally, that would have been no reason to feel self-conscious, but this was absurd, and she felt a flush of embarrassment overlaying that irrational twinge of interest.

"What do you think you are doing?"

For once, it didn't reply directly to the question, but the link between them activated, and a overlay of white crossed her vision.

_< Calm. Coolness of starless space. Soft dark. Safe.>_

Easy for it to say. She tossed her head back, dislodging the Marauder's hand in the process. "That can't work." She tried for calm. "You can't-"

The Marauder leaned in and slid its hand to the back of her head again, hooked its claws into the gaps in the plating there just so, and she gasped. Too precise. That knowledge didn't come from whatever it might have found on the extranet. To hit those spots that precisely, it must have paid attention when she had been with Alavus. Very close attention. On several occasions.

She knew that the sensible response would be to push it away. There was no doubt in her mind that it would respect her decision if she did. But clearly, it had done its research for whatever it was that it was doing here.

"Why?"

_< Two spirals of light twisting around each other, the turns bringing them closer. A stylised star system, several planets orbiting a sun, a gap where one planet should be, its absence influencing and distorting the orbits of the others.>_

Inconclusive. She drew a quick breath, almost panicky as the Marauder laid its face against the side of her neck. Its mandibles gripped, very gently. It can't bite, she thought distractedly. No teeth.

This was wrong. Aliens were one thing, but something mechanical like that - it was against all nature, all reason. She couldn't let it do that. She shouldn't. She shouldn’t even consider it. She most definitely shouldn't... want it. 

With something like a sob, she clawed at the Marauder's lateral fringe, and she couldn't have said herself whether she was fighting it off or drawing it near.

It remained still.

_< Two possible routes between stars, both through dangerous places. Globular clusters and neutron stars and brilliant nebulae that obscured hazards. The destination of both unknown, far, far ahead. Choose.>_

It was impossible to. As it was impossible to think. Worry and relief and exhaustion turned into blind need, the urge to feel, to be close. Part of it was raw lust, intense enough to almost take her voice away.

Maybe feeling this was wrong. It didn't matter. It was one fucked-up galaxy. It had to be if the one creature closest to her was a damned sentient spaceship. And she was probably insane for doing this.

 _Yes_ , she thought at it. _I hope you have any idea how this can work._ She let her head fall back, invitation and surrender.

Metal claws tugged at her clothes, snagged in the fastenings, and pulled. It was by no means a very smooth move, and so very much in character for the Marauder that she couldn't help laughing. It still was clumsy. This had all the possibility of going so very, very wrong. And she couldn't find it in herself to care any more.

The tendril against her hand twitched and the green grid of cybernetics lit up. There was something at the edge of her vision for a moment, but it was something new, no longer the white of their normal interface. Something shifted and clicked into place, and she felt a strange tingle all over for a split second. It was over almost before she really registered it, but she understood what it had to be when the Marauder ran its claws over the unplated sections of her hips, movement perfectly coordinated. Another tendril touched the side of her neck in a slow caress.

It was linked fully into her nervous system, she thought, and she dimly wondered whether there was a risk in that, too, but she didn't care, couldn't care. She clawed futilely at the Marauder's sides and back, frantic as its hand slid lower between her legs and pressed down, slid plates aside and left her open, and wanting. Her face was held against the Marauder's collar, unyielding metal between her teeth as she bit down in reflex when it eased her down. She couldn't see, couldn't tell which touch was real and which was direct nerve stimulation. The difference didn't matter that much, and she was past caring about the intricacies of that anyway when something that had to be another tendril pressed up against her. She screamed when it pierced her, unable to keep silent. Her claws raked down the Marauder's sides at the first push, would have drawn blood on a turian partner. It wouldn't feel it, but the entity behind its eyes knew the meaning and responded. The rhythm was fast, urgent, almost vicious as it drove into her. She whimpered, maybe pleaded, clenched her claws into the Marauder's sides as sensation built. She clung to the Marauder, feet braced against its spurs, writhing against its immobile frame. No time to think, only to feel, and maybe not even that. She screamed again as her climax ripped through her like a swipe of claws, leaving her mind in shreds.

The world seemed to flip, and she suddenly could see, not the Marauder over her but a slightly distorted view of a turian, held down by a Marauder and arching in pleasure while greenish tendrils moved over her body.

Both ways, she suddenly thought. It can go both ways. The thought gave her a fierce sort of satisfaction, and she reached, stretching some incorporeal part of her towards the Reaper's mind. It was close by, aware of her perception and the sensations it caused in her body, but separate. Uninvolved, merely observing, studying the effects of its attentions on her. Sensation was merely flow of energy, monitored, but not interpreted. It had no concept for that sort of pleasure. Different hardware. The signal made no sense.

That was unacceptable. She didn't know how, but she drew it closer, managed to keep the fragile connection as pleasure built again rapidly.

For once it seemed hesitant, even if it never paused in what it did to her.

This was alien to its nature.

Maybe it was, but she thought they were both well beyond that consideration. _Come closer._

It didn't have any receptors for pleasure, at least not on its mechanical body. No wonder it didn't understand. And no wonder that it had tried to share into her perception at times to gain some understanding. But it was right. The signal would make no sense. But she could share the interpretation.

_Let me show you. Like so._

It needed a deeper connection than the mere data exchange she normally kept up with it, but that she could do.

The connection twisted, then snapped into place. She arched her back again as pleasure grew. Screamed when it hit the limit again, and this time it was right there, feeling what she felt, and she couldn't tell whether it was her own body that was shaking or the whole ship.

She could feel that surprised wonder from it, and had time to give a breathless laugh. As if in response to that, she felt the Marauder shift, hold her down with a certainty that it hadn't had before. She knew it had no teeth, but she felt the press of teeth against the back of her neck just the same, whimpered as instinct made her go still and relaxed now. The frenzy of that first contact was replaced by something slower, more intense.

Not close enough. Something was missing still.

She had never linked to it, not in the way that everyone could since the cybernetics. She couldn't stand it with other organics, and the thought of doing that with a Reaper was still terrifying.

The thought of not even trying it was worse. Messed-up galaxy, she thought fleetingly, then moaned in bliss as it moved against her, in her. She dropped that wall around her mind, and reached out.

For a second, there was the impression of something huge, alien, shifting in surprise, and distinct joy. Then she was drawn in. She was floating in a black void that was broken only by distant starlight, and it was just as endless and alien as she had thought. She might be lost in it, just as lost as she was in the pleasure of its touch. But she had no fear left. If she would be lost, then so be it.

_Not lost. Never lost._

It wasn't words, but concepts, barely fitting into the constraint of words.

_You are safe._

There was just the impression of something immense somehow curling up around her, a closeness that mirrored that of her body and its platform. It was instinct that prompted her to react the same, turn into that touch, draw it close. Draw it in.

It was pleasure, just as much as the solidness of the Marauder, the tendrils on her body, but distinct from it. Different.

Shouldn't be. And then there was nothing separating them, and pleasures blended as their minds closed in around each other, like beams of light twining around each other, spinning, weaving together, synchronising. Touched, then merged.

Her world came apart in an explosion of brilliant white, perception overloaded as they reached and shared completion of a different kind. She felt her body arch as climax hit, the sensation both familiar and completely inexplicable. She felt starlight on the outer curve of the hull, the tiny areas of light delicate as a caress as that other, so different body shivered faintly in reaction.

Both sensations were equally valid. It was right there, meshed with her body as well as her mind. For all the difference between them, something that was common to both of them but had a different rhythm suddenly faltered, paused. She had the brief feeling that she should remember what this was, why it was dangerous, but her mind was blank.

_This could mean permanent change, for both of them._

She didn't care.

The different rhythms aligned, synced up,until there was only one common one. She knew she was screaming from the intensity, pleasure of another kind, so sharp that it was almost pain, and held on just more tightly, until a wave of brilliant white took her mind away.

 

 

 

It was still close when she came to her senses again, but she at least was aware of her own body again. She sighed, feeling completely relaxed, even languid as she leaned against the Marauder. There was a single tendril curled around her wrist, unmoving, but she still felt the ghostly echo of its touch, moving over her plates like an absent-minded caress.

The Reaper was completely quiet, and she wondered what it was thinking. "What was that, really?" she asked it.

_Unplanned._

She almost laughed, at the clearness of the not-voice as much as the underlying confusion. That wasn't the interface it had created, reactivated in a new form. That was its real voice, as close as the limitations of her body allowed her to experience. It meant that it still was connected to her, in some deep way. With a touch of unease, she sat up. Something was different. 

No. Not something. She was.

The Marauder didn't try to hold her as she stood, and the tendril slipped off her wrist and sunk back into its channel. She stretched, then looked down at her naked body. There was no visible change that she could detect, but something felt strange on her left side. She rubbed a finger over the unplated area on her side where that sensation was strongest. It wasn't precisely an itch, nor the sensation of pressure. A vague feeling of warmth, like the light from a spotlight, only much fainter.

It took her a second or two to realise what that had to be. When she did, she lifted her head and listened. Yes, right there. There was a sound, after all. The Reaper had been right about that all along.

Then reality caught up to her, momentary shock making the sensation fade into nothing, and she stood very still, feeling her eyes widen. "How is this possible?"

_Synchronisation._

She blinked. The cybernetics. Possible permanent change, it had said. She wondered what the change to the Reaper was, then smiled again as she felt it catch that thought and answer in a quick, wordless impulse. Some new connection. A different view, for both of them. This had been meeting half-way, in every possible sense.

She found that if she listened closely, she could hear the sound again, feel that strange warmth. There was more, if she strained her senses, the whispering melody that she always heard when in its core, clearer now, almost understandable.

It felt very strange. But not, she decided after a few seconds, unpleasant. Not at all. It felt... right.

_You are safe._

This time, she heard the words as well as she could see the colour of the underlying emotion and view the concept behind it, and she blinked, then smiled. It had said those words before, but there had been so much lost in translation. Not anymore.

It was difficult to shape, but she thought that she managed a good approximation of the sound that it had described to her as its name.

There was the darkness between stars in its reply, and the light of many stars. And joy.

 

 


End file.
